In Which Blood, Death, and Laughter Ensues
by Currently Defunct
Summary: The original novel, as told by everyone's favorite vampire, the Count. Lots of the Brides, Lucy, and Mina.
1. For God's sake stop reviewing

Dear fanfiction connoisseurs,

I have to say that I appreciate your clicking the link, since the market for humorous fanfiction is disappointingly low, but nevertheless, I warn you- what follows is the result of my malnourished, maladjusted self from the ages of thirteen to fourteen, fueled mostly by black coffee and my own antisocial tendencies. It's a novel completed by a high school freshman with a high school freshman's sense of humor. (I'm much funnier now, I promise.) And it's fanfiction. And also, it's about vampires. I just want you to really examine those facts and think about what you're getting yourself into.

I've kept it up, partially for nostalgic purposes and a kind of "never again," because people seem to review it kindly, and find it amusing. But I'm 18, and I've been accepted to four colleges now, and I have no plans to go back and revise a middle schooler's idea of being internet popular, or even really to look at it if I don't have to. I appreciate your kind emails and encouragement, but when I see the number in my inbox, I think it's from Facebook, and then I see that it isn't, and I'm sad.

So truth be told, if you do decide to take on this project, I would be just as warmed if you smiled where appropriate, frowned where appropriate, and closed out of the window rather than clicking the review button.

Thanks for your readership, if I haven't sufficiently warned you away.

-Summer, 3/3/11


	2. In Which the Townspeople are Unfriendly

"A solicitor?" Ava asked. 

I nodded and continued my search for a suitable hat. Yesterday I had enough to keep a hat collector satisfied for a hundred years. And today they had evidently disappeared.

"What are you looking for?" Katherina asked from directly behind my left ear in her voice like water pouring. There were times I wondered if the Brides enjoyed their attempts to surprise me- this was usually followed by the realization that yes, they did.

"A hat," I said through tight teeth.

"Like this one?" I turned around. Katherina held up a black silk top hat she had evidently pulled out of the air; when she saw me staring she grinned and put it on, angling it just so. The contrast with her pallid blonde hair and pale skin was almost surreal. Her eyes were the brightest things in her face. They looked like full moons, or sapphires, or-

"Give it to me." I took the hat from her and tried to wear it in a fashion that would hide my face. The brim was not nearly big enough. The entire thing sat on my forehead similar to a dead bird. In retrospect, I should have simply tied a scarf around my face or kept my head tilted down. Katherina let out a high-pitched giggle.

"There you guys are," said yet another voice. I looked up and of course Elizabeth had come in. Standing beside Ava, the sisters looked almost eerily alike; the same dark hair- though Elizabeth's was curly, and Ava's was straighter- the same large red eyes and lips, the same translucent skin. After three hundred years, I still found it hard to believe sometimes that fortune had favored me so much.

"A solicitor is coming," said Ava. "Same thing we told you about three times already."

"For the London house," I said, fastening a cloak over my shoulders. "He's going to help with the transactions."

"London house?" Elizabeth said blankly. I raised an eyebrow- I'd already told her everything, but she tended to be a little hare-brained sometimes- Ava closed her eyes, and Katherina shot her a look.

"I'm buying a house in London," I said slowly. "I've told you this."

"Ah. That's right."

Ava rolled her eyes.

"Where are you going now?"

"I have to pick up the solicitor." I closed one eye. "Harker Jonathan, I think." I fixed each woman with a dark stare. "You will not touch him. You will not look at him. He will not see you. He will not know that anyone resides in this castle besides myself. Understand?" I didn't ask for an answer, just adjusted the hat again. "Does this cover me?"

Katherina considered and tilted it back down.

"Thank you. I left some food for the man on the table. Please do not touch."

"You can cook?" Katherina said with evident interest. I shrugged.

"I didn't know that," Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

"I have to go."

"When's the last time you cooked?"

"I have to go."

----------------------------------------------

The innkeeper was a small old woman, dressed modestly in a ruffled dress and apron, which dragged along the floor. Her powdery gray hair was held back in a loose bun, her skin barely hanging off her skeleton. A rosary, dark, beaded wood and a small, delicate cross, hung around her throat; every so often she touched it gently, as if to assure herself it was still there. She swept the entryway of the inn carefully, leaving no thread of dust where it was, as if this task was what she had been born to do.

I reined in the horses. They were skittish and spooky, and it took several tries to get their attention enough to slow them to a stop. Even after I let go of their bridles, they kept shuffling their hooves and twisting their heads anxiously.

Okay. Now. The hard part.

I adjusted my hat obsessively again, took a deep breath, and approached the old innkeeper. Best to get it over with and fetch Mr. Harker.

I don't think she noticed I was there, as it wasn't until I was standing an approximate two inches away that she looked up. Her eyes were a dull, wintry blue, but foggy, and widened at the sight of me.

The innkeeper gasped audibly and took a knee-jerk step backwards. The broom clattered to the floor as one veined, knobbed hand flew to her throat and clutched the crucifix. "Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name," she choked out from somewhere deep inside herself. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." She would have continued, possibly preached a whole sermon, if I had not raised one hand and silenced her.

"I am here for Harker Jonathan." I didn't want to hear the Lord's Prayer if I could help it.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Oh, fiend, devil, spawning of hell, why do you torment us so- to destroy the soul of a youth, new in this land- give us our daily bread-"

"I-"

"And forgive us our trespasses-"

"Am-"

"As we forgive them that trespass against us-"

"Only-"

"And lead us not into temptation-"

"Here-"

"But deliver us from evil-"

"For-"

"For thine is the kingdom-"

"Jonathan-"

"The power and the glory for ever and ever-"

"Harker!"

"Amen!"

We glared at each other with open animosity. I made a mental note to tell Katherina to injure this woman later. As I watched, those misty eyes focused behind me; I turned around, as more as of an unthinking reaction than a deliberate one.

A tall man in a suit, back to us, was making his way to the carriage- I had evidently missed it in my quarrel. Mr., Harker. As I watched, he paused to stroke the long black nose of one of the horses. It stopped fretting momentarily.

"Never mind, then," I said under my breath. I tipped down my top hat again and started towards the driver's seat and eventually, the sanctity and comfort of my castle.

"Demon," she hissed, and buried her face in her hands. I ignored her and took my seat at the head of the carriage.

I wanted desperately to give Mr. Harker the obvious once-over, but if he managed to see my face and realized I was a count in addition to being a carriage driver, the visit was probably going to head downhill from there. I ignored him as best I could, at one point looking almost straight down to avoid meeting eyes and from there having to look up and have an actual conversation.

As I started the skittish horses, I noted the townspeople coming out. The men wore beards and angry expressions; the women shed some quiet tears for the young, plainly naïve boy. The mothers scooped up their children, whose wide and innocent eyes followed the coach as it trailed quietly away. I wanted to turn away from their dark and prying eyes, but they watched from every angle, weighed from every possible direction as an uncomfortable pressure.

I don't go into town much.


	3. In Which Blue Fire Isn't Fun

I drove the carriage out through a long and winding road, taking the scenic route. In Transylvania, the exquisiteness of the wilderness, its pure overwhelming splendor, can knock you off-balance if you aren't prepared for it. From the dead silence in the coach behind me, I guessed the _junge englishe herren_ was not prepared for it. All movement had ceased. I smiled. Only the beauty of Romania could render such amazement.

We rounded a hill and the land unfolded like paper below us both, emerald trees glittering with some past dew, the rich blue evening summer sky stretching eternally above it, the small and insignificant path carved out by man. I smiled a little, thinking of the villagers. Their excuse for this was God. My excuse was . . . well, I didn't have one.

All was quiet behind me- perhaps the _herr_ had fallen asleep? "Look- isten szek- God's seat," I said under my breath and crossed myself sarcastically.

We- I- kept forward. My passenger was so quiet there was no possible way he was awake. The man was either sleeping or dead. I much preferred it that way, as I could enjoy the solitude and comfortable quiet. The trees surrounding me on both sides were very calming, even on the precipitous hills where the horses had to slow to a trot. I began to notice wolves weaving subtly alongside the carriage, particularly a respected silvery male. I fought against a smile.

It was on one of the steep hills that a tentative hand tapped me on the shoulder. It took me all of my self-control not to jump out of my skin. It was, of course, Mr. Harker. And I'd been so sure he was asleep. "Would you like me to walk?" he asked. "We always walk on the slopes in England. Spare the horses."

We rode for a long time, and I began to notice the wolves. They had caught onto the fact there was something living and breathing in my carriage. There were wolves on all sides of the carriage, like a flood of fur, and more in the forest along the left and right- I could see their coats gleaming in the moonlight.

, I thought. 

I let them go on like that for a while- they weren't, after all, hurting anything- until they started to get rowdy. The ones closest to the carriage began to bite it as best as possible and shove it with their shoulders. The wolves up by the horses were the worst- in impatience their lips rolled up and exposed their teeth and tongues, which they showed to the horses freely. The horses, for their part, began to panic and jerk the carriage in different directions.

"That's it," I said under my breath.

I yanked back on the reins as hard as I could- which is pretty hard- and the horses reared onto all fours in an immediate stop. I jumped as soon as the wheels were solitary.

The wolves leapt back and looked at me, eyes bright and tails wagging. They totally thought I was going to leave the horses and my passenger to them.

"_Gehen Sie! Jetzt!_" (Go! Now!)

Their wagging tails paused and their ears receded somewhat. I stomped my foot in their general direction and they scattered, tails between legs, casting forlorn glances back over their shoulders.

While I was out, I looked around for any other potential dangers, and when I checked closer, I saw it. We had had dry weather for a while before this particular incident, you see, which made Transylvania not only dangerous because of wolves, vampires, and spooky townspeople, but also trees that will spontaneously burst into flame. Not live ones, of course- but when a dead tree falls down on top of another dead tree, friction and some other laws of nature come into play and- _whoosh!_- the whole thing lights up.

I saw something bright out of the corner of my eye, turned. As I've said, two trees had fallen on each other, and a small fire had erupted. It looked blue through the layers of trees.

"_Shit_," I hissed under my breath and ran toward it.

It wasn't a terribly _big_ fire, but a hot one. I tried to stomp it out and my pantleg caught on fire- just a little bit- so that was out. In the end I kicked a big rock on it, which seemed to smother it, and ran back for the carriage.

Harker was leaning out of the window. He looked puzzled.

I jumped back into the driver's seat, yelled at the wolves one more time, as they had been creeping forward, and started the horses. Said horses were so hyped up now that when they got the "go" signal, they took off in a fashion as through they had been strapped to rockets.

We went like that for a while. The horses didn't appear to lose any steam at all, not even on the five more miles to the castle.

We reached the castle's front. There was an unused, grassy area the trees hadn't taken over yet that worked quite nicely- I yanked on the reins. The horses planted their feet, leaving long, deep marks in the ground. The carriage itself swung around with the centripetal force and nearly tipped over before coming to blessed halt.

I jumped back out of the seat and half-ripped Harker's door open, still looking down to avoid him seeing me, helped him out. He was a little shaky, I noticed with mild amusement.

I left him there without saying anything and took the horses to a little clearing some while away from the castle.

I plunged out of the driver's seat. The horses were terribly stirred up by now and they practically danced where they were, legs shuffling, heads tossing, tails swishing. They had a common bridle, which I seized and began to drag over to the nearest sturdy tree. The charges were not entirely susceptible to this idea- when I say drag I mean that I was pulling and their planted hooves digging into the soil. I tied their reins securely around the tree.

The circle of wolves still stood around me. They almost radiated solemnity; legs straight, tails slack, and hanging heads, but their golden eyes were keen. The silver one especially. I reached out and firmly held his bottom jaw- the wolf at first braced all four legs and whined, but I leaned in and stared his straight in the eyes.

"Don't," I said. The animal relaxed. I kissed it on the nose and its tail wagged briefly.

The next second I was an inconspicuous owl in the sky and hurtling fast toward Castle Dracula.

I hit the stonewall and climbed up. My castle, which lies very dear to my heart, was run through on every side with chinks and inequalities in its building. A more simple place to climb you could not find. In four seconds I was up and over, and another few I was halfway down the hallway and headed for the door.

Katherina poked her head out of one of the rooms I passed and followed me. Her "sisters" ran in her wake like attendants to a queen. "Master?" Elizabeth piped up. "Is he here?"

" The solicitor." Ava clarified. I waved them both off, but to no avail. They kept following me downstairs.

"Well, is he?"

"Not now!' I mouthed.

I jumped the last three steps and lunged for the door. My three Brides still stood at the staircase, in full view of the door, staring at me in wide-eyed consternation. I made a motion for them to hide or leave or _something_, but their eyes were blank; Katherina knit her eyebrows.

"_Go!_" I whisper-yelled. They got the hint then, and a moment later where there had been three beautiful women was fast vanishing white mist. In less than a minute it had filtered away.

I went for the door and began pulling back thick locks and heavy chains. It swung open with a heavy _screech_ and I, for the first time, got a good look at _herr_ Jonathan Harker.


	4. In Which Harker's First Day Passes

He was tall, maybe my height, somewhere in his early twenties. He had peach-colored skin and close-cut, neatly done hair the color of mahogany and a face that still showed childlike innocence and wonder despite being an adult. His eyes- very blue- were still wide with all the amazement he'd seen today. His suit was a dark blue with a slight smattering of dust and creases around the knees from sitting in the carriage ride. One hand was still raised from where he'd started to knock on the heavy door.

I realized I was standing in the doorway, staring at _herr_ Harker, which is, of course, incredibly rude. I made an attempt at a friendly smile- of which I was out of practice- and said brightly, "Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!"

Harker stepped over the threshold and I shook his hand. "Welcome to my house! Enter freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!" If that didn't spell out "friendly host" in capital letters, I wasn't sure if anything did.

Harker nodded very stiffly. I had the distinct impression he was attempting to look sophisticated and wise. It was fascinating to watch. The man couldn't have been more than twenty-two. "Count Dracula?" he asked in a lofty manner.

I nodded and bowed. "I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house." I sidestepped around the _gütiger gast_ and picked up his luggage. It wasn't much, just a few suitcases that, from their weight, held clothes and a briefcase that I assumed was for paperwork. "The night air is chill and you must need to eat and rest."

I started up the stairs with his bags and waved him up after me. Mr. Harker's mouth twisted into a grimace; "No, I can take those," he insisted under his breath and reached for his luggage. I held them up out of his reach by a couple of centimeters. His expression grew a little more pained.

"Nay, sir, you are my guest! It is late, and my people are not available." Not that I had any, but was that really anything he needed to know? "Let me see to your comfort myself." I yanked them back further and kept walking upward. My guest walked four steps behind consistently and awkwardly. Uneven steps.

We eventually reached his the dining room door. The small fire spark in the hearth had yet to catch when I walked in, but when I stared at it, it "conveniently" flared up into a welcome blaze. Momentarily satisfied, I set _herr_'s luggage down and went to the door to the bedroom on the opposite wall, waved him in and backed out myself.

"You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared."

I went back to the other room and began pulling the food off the hearth and setting it onto silver platters. I was very fond of these, considering they were well over five hundred years old- a family heirloom- and in tight, elegant spirals on the dish covers read the words _Vorsicht der Teufel_.

It was inscribed along with the family insignia, two crossed broadswords.

I stalked back over to the fireplace and kept it going obsessively while I waited for Harker to enter again. I heard footsteps a minute later and my guest reappeared, looking a little less disheveled from his Carriage Ride from Hell, freshly combed and shaved. He took a seat pretentiously- I supposed he'd never been in an actual castle before and was enjoying the experience.

Then Harker realized that I wasn't seated and his cheekbones and the tips of his ears turned brilliantly red with mortification. He started to scrape back his chair again with a grating _squeal_, but I shook my head and told him I had already eaten. I wish I'd come up with something to add onto it, but I was too busy being impressed at the speed with which humans change colors.

Still pink, but very slowly regaining his usual tone, the _herr_ took something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was an envelope, a little lined from being stuffed inside a small pouch for who-knows-how-long, with a blue seal stamped with a bird of some sort. I read through it quickly- it was postmarked from a Mr. Hawkins, the man who had sent Mr. Harker to me, outlining some legal issues I should inquire about. He did include one glowing paragraph about my guest.

I glanced over the top of the letter; _herr_ had put his elbows on the table, his chin in his palms, and his eyes boring into the travel-worn paper. If I had been a little younger and more imaginative, I would have thought his eyes would set the paper on fire. I handed it to him and he read it through eagerly, pinking a little again when he read the part about himself. He handed it back and I tucked it in my cloak's inside pocket.

I leaned forward and pulled the cover off one of the dishes and was again amazed. Harker fell on the food the way a starving wolf might fall upon a discarded kill. He must have been famished, because he was sucking down the roast chicken as if it was a last meal. Not even I, or any of the Brides, could have come close. In an attempt to distract myself from the laughter threatening to erupt, I rose and fetched a bottle of old tokay, of which he had two glasses.

After the original inhalation of food, he slowed down and talked. Despite my first impression of awkward youth and confused incompetency, he seemed fairly intelligent and well educated on literature, art, and most especially law. Of course. And the things he said to say about England! I wanted to take notes. It was far, far more informative to actually speak with a resident of England than reading a storybook and even more so when he talked about Transylvania.

"It's a different world," he said when I asked him about the differences between our homelands. "I can't, I just _cannot_, compare the things I've seen here to London."

I couldn't have agreed more.

After he finished eating, I found the couple of cigars I'd purchased. In fiction, the men _always_ seemed to have a smoke after eating and Harker seemed dully pleased when I offered him one. I refused, because I frankly found it disgusting- gnawing on a sprig of ground plants wrapped in paper as a means of relaxing around a fire? No thank you, so as it turns out, truth really _is_ stranger than fiction.

I kept up with the gracious host act, asking him questions about London and England and the rest of the world in general. He had a girl back home, a "Mina," and his face lit up when he said her name, like a lamp had lit somewhere inside; he talked most readily about her. Her face, her hair, her beauty of all sorts. I made a mental note that asking about his fiancée- he'd met her in only October, and by this past June the engagement was sealed, because he was such a _lucky_ boy and he'd _known_, in his heart and his _soul_, that she was the _one_, I kid you _not_- would get him talking when conversation was slow.

Harker did do an unusual amount of staring, though, which was unnerving. It was difficult to decide what to say, so I was hoping I could pass for being one for contemplative silences. To pass time, I glanced out the half-oval window cut out of the stonewall.

The sky was a deep, dark indigo relieved only by the pale yellow moon, nearly crouching on the western horizon, and pinpricks of stars. A deep and endless sea of bejeweled jade and emerald evergreens stretched into the distance; if I focused my eyes correctly, the newest splash of dew was brought into sharp and shining clarity. Below, like fish in a sea, my wolves howled their tributes to the lonely heavens.

I smiled a little. "Listen to them," I said, really more to myself. "The children of the night . . . what _music_ they make!"

In retrospect, the words were a bad idea the second they left my mouth, but it was too late then. Harker gave me a look that was partially confused, partially awkward, and just a little bit appalled (most likely this was because of his, erm, "unfortunate" experience with the wolves on the way up). I flinched inwardly.

. "Ah, sir-" I coughed to give myself another few moments to think- "You city dwellers could never enter the feelings of the hunter." Harker still stared at me with his forehead rumpled in consternation, clearly a little lost by this point. I rose and held open the door when hid his bedroom. "But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon, so sleep well and dream well." 

Still blinking a little, Harker slowly stood and adjusted his suit and collected his things. He wandered a little aimlessly through the ornate wooden door. I heard him clunk his belongings down onto the bed.

I turned to go- through my peripheral vision I saw a slow-moving mist. In the one transient glance I saw a pair of lips beneath some eyes with a passing flash of the bluest blue I will ever see, blue the color of sapphires or summer sky-

But when I turned back to get a better look, there was nothing there.

I backtracked quietly to the wooden door. There was a key- only one- that I carried with me to all the castle doors. I retrieved it and, as silently as possible, I locked the door. "Just so you don't wander," I said under my breath.

God help Jonathan Harker if he wandered.


	5. In Which the Brides are Curious

I headed down the west corridor toward the basement. Most times I went down the wall when I needed to get to the cellar, but I figured the . . . unusual quality . . . of seeing your host scaling down a wall headfirst could be a minor problem, so I took a detour through the library. I paused a moment to skim the titles of the leather-bound books.

Something clipped my left shoulder. Something white.

I turned and grabbed, but I came up with a handful of empty air. There was a flash of gossamer at the end of the passage (the library was key-shaped with a door at the end of the "teeth") and a high-pitched girl's laugh echo from the empty corridor. I looked up.

It was a bat. A white one. It flapped at the end of the walkway between me and the ornate oaken door. Its membranous wings were nearly translucent and pulsing with veins as it strained to stay in one place. Even from maybe ten feet away, I could see it had blue eyes.

I held out one hand, palm upward; the bat flit over. It didn't land on me. I had better sense than to expect that it would. But its wings spread wide, wider than their length was rightful to be, becoming wraithlike and draping almost to the floor, from there distorting into shapely arms. The white fur was billowing into a dress that moved with wind and long blonde hair that fell easily down its back, human features emerging through the bat's-

"Katherina," I said. "Hello."

Katherina smiled like an innocent child and looked up at me through her eyelashes. There was no bat-like-qualities about her now, only undeniable beauty. If I had glanced away for a second, I would have missed the entire thing. "Hello," she replied coyly. "And how be you?"

"Is it safe to assume your sisters are around here somewhere?" I asked, glancing around, naturally forgetting to check behind me. Silly me.

"Very safe," Katherina said as her face stretched out into a wide smile.

Another musical, soprano giggle sounded from, naturally, the opposite end of the room. I whirled around. From the wine-colored velvet chair next to the highest stack of books, Elizabeth pulled her knees up to her chest and placed her chin on them. Her long dark hair fell over her face and through her crimson eyes.

I crossed my arms. "Where's Ava? Should I assume the worst?"

"I think she's picking the locks on the doors," Katherina said. As if any of them needed any lock-picking when they could mist. It was a standard jest among the four of us.

"Funny." Ava wasn't the type to do anything. Of all the Brides, I expected her to give me the least trouble.

"Don't worry," Ava said from two inches behind my left ear.

"Ava too," I said. "How very lucky I am."

Katherina shook her head and wrapped her arms around my neck. I was so much taller than she than at this distance she very nearly had to look straight up. "Oh, don't talk about _us_," she said, while I tried very hard not to be distracted. Distracting me was Katherina's favorite pastime. "We want to hear about this mysterious _guest_." As an afterthought she added, "Please?"

I wriggled off a little. A very little. "Not now."

"No. Now."

I considered. "He's very young. A little naïve, I believe- I'm going to have to watch myself." I jabbed the side of my mouth with my tongue and sighed. "It's going to be a long month."

"He's certainly staying that long, then?" Elizabeth asked, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear and twisting her red lips up into a grimace. She was still beautiful. " . . . We have to stay out of sight for a full month?"

"Yes. Unfortunately so."

"But Mr. Harker's asleep _now_?" Katherina probed. She looked far too innocent- she was, of course, plotting something. I knew her too well. "On the other side of the castle?"

"I think s-" I realized what they were getting at; she batted her eyelashes. "_No, _absolutely _not_. Didn't I make myself clear earlier?"

"You didn't tell us we couldn't-"

"I am now. _Don't_." I didn't like this discussion and, like all good and all bad must eventually, it ended when the first threads of pinkish dawn filtered in. The three girls drew back as a serpent draws back before it strikes and sucked in a sharp rattling hiss. Ava gripped my sleeve and dug her nails into the crease of my elbow.

"Ladies, don't let _me_ distract you from the fact that there are some very dark coffins in the cellar-" I started trying to pry Ava's iron grip off my arm without snarling. If she kept tightening her fingers like that she was going to cut something. "I'm sure it would be much- more- comfortable- _Ava!_"

She let go quickly. "I'm sorry."

I checked the inside of my arm to make sure she hadn't torn anything like, say, a ligament. She'd left four dark red half moons. A souvenir. They were already beginning to fade. "You three, I suppose, could have free range while Harker-"

"Who?"

"The guest, Elizabeth."

"Oh."

"Free range when _the guest_ is asleep. But if he gets the slightest hint that he and I are not alone, I am going to hide you three in the basement and keep you there. Is that understood?"

"Yes, _father_," Katherina said in a sing-song tone. She was a master of sarcasm.

"Good. Now go."


	6. In Which Very, Very Little Happens

I woke up at dusk with late evening light shining dully through a small slit in my tomb. In the cellar where I kept the coffins (technically, the cellar was a crypt) I'd cut several half-domed windows in strategic places. The idea was that the way the windows and my sarcophagus were placed was that at certain times of the year, the angle of the sun would cast light on one half the coffin, which had a small slit on it, which meant that I could tell the light was dulling even from inside. It took me two weeks of threatening an astronomer to decide exactly where to place the windows and the casket.

I shoved the marble lid up and to the left of the coffin. It scraped to the stone floor with a long, dull, heavy _sccchhhhhhhhTHUD_ that ricocheted off walls and ceiling. I winced, expecting the Brides to comment loudly or Mr. Harker to somehow find the cellar and be more than a little horrified to see his host lying in a casket like a corpse. But there was nothing but the reverberating clang that was slowly fading away. I exhaled loudly.

Upstairs, Harker was still asleep. As quietly and gingerly as I could, I checked his wrists and throat for any marks or cuts, no matter how shallow. I'd learned the hard way that the Brides could get blood from the thinnest scrape- if they tried, they really _could_ get blood from a stone. He was unmarked. If he hadn't been, I would have raised hell.

The girls had evidently taken "stay out of sight" to their black little hearts. (I remembered later that I could have tracked them mentally, but at the time it slipped my mind.) They had disappeared without a trace. So, ironically, now that I wanted them around they had vanished into the air. I sighed through my teeth.

First things first, though. I started slowly putting out food on the table near Harker's door and placing some coffee on the hearth, took a step back and examined it. It looked nice and convenient, like the host was very polite and didn't want their guests to starve. After careful consideration, I wrote a note explaining I would be absent and tucked in under the plate.

The next order of business was to find the horses. It took me three damned hours because I'd been moving so fast when I left them there I hadn't paid much attention to going back to find them. Well, I hadn't paid _any_ attention, really. I'd been a little more preoccupied with getting back to the castle before Harker knocked. But nevertheless, I was relieved to see the horses unharmed. They'd snapped their bridle but milled calmly around the area, nuzzling the forest floor for flora. The wolves had obeyed nicely, mostly lying around the edge of the clearing where the horses wandered, watching keenly.

The silver one swished his tail in the grass and watched me round up the horses. They weren't nearly as agitated now as they had been before as the result of a day filled with grazing.

I took them back home and tied them to the gate, where they browsed in front of the castle. I was bored by then and, after a brief search for the Weird Sisters, returned to the library and immersed myself in _Othello_ for a while.

I realized I was hungry. Worse yet, I was bunking with a sleeping human who couldn't have fought me off had he been wide-awake. It was a considerable temptation, but if Harker was pale and woozy he wasn't going to be much of a lawyer, now was he? I supposed I could always go through his papers and do it myself, but . . . nah. Bearing this in mind, I took to the air.

I returned some time later, just before dawn, feeling considerably better. I brought back something for the Brides (the infant had typhoid. There was no way possible it could survive) and left it in the basement for them to drink at their leisure. I was tired, but I doubted I would have any more urges to claw open the veins of my castle-mate. Bearing that in mind, I went back down to the basemen and fell back asleep.


	7. In Which I Sort of Scare Harker

When I woke back up, it was much earlier than last time- mid-afternoon- and I hate getting up early. It's unbalancing. So when I woke up I was stiff and my shirt was twisted around like a straightjacket and my mouth tasted funny. Just to wash it out I tried some of the drink I'd offered Harker, and it tasted like rotten grapes that had been lying in dirt. But I was more awake.

I wandered upstairs where I found Harker curled up in the red velvet armchair reading, of course, the Law List behind a messy pile of books on the table. The man was practically on vacation and he was reading the _Law List_. How on earth did he have a fiancé? She must have eloped while he was away-

I smiled a little and bowed. "_Herr!_ Did you sleep well?" I waited again for him to say he'd had odd dreams, or couldn't sleep, or felt dizzy this morning.

Harker nodded. "Yes. I was very comfortable."

I smiled more warmly with my heart at ease. "I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much to interest you." I pulled a book off the shelf at random. It was an atlas, which fell open to England from common use. "These companions have been good friends to me, and for some years past. Ever since I had the idea of going to London, they have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your England, and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! As yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak."

Harker looked genuinely surprised. "But Count," he protested. "You know and speak English very thoroughly!"

I shook my head gravely. "I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel," I explained. "True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them."

"Indeed, you speak excellently!"

I was beginning to wish I hadn't brought it up and took a moment to collect my thought and put them in order. "Not so," I said finally. "Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble. I am a Boyar. The common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he sees me, or pauses in his speaking if he hears my words, Ha, ha! A stranger!' I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation. And I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking." I paused. "I am sorry that I had to be away so long today, but you will, I know, forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand."

Harker nodded. "I wouldn't at all mind helping you with your speaking. It would be my pleasure, Count." He cleared his throat. "But I would like to ask you something."

Four hundred years with the Brides made me instantly reticent. Most often, when someone hesitates to ask you something, no good can come of it. "Yes?"

"Could I possibly come into the library again? It's very comfortable here and I admire your collection . . . ?" His pleading voice and hopeful expression reminded me of a child waif.

"Yes, certainly. You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand." Understand that there were three voluptuous young women who were more than they seemed, perhaps. I felt no need to divulge this information, however.

"Very well," Harker said, nodding his head.

"We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be." I realized I'd slipped when I'd referred to his carriage ride. He hadn't told it to me, so how was I supposed to have any knowledge of blue fires and wolves and the rest? A line of swears ran through my head.

If my guest noticed anything remiss, he didn't mention it. He asked how my affairs had gone that day, causing me to draw a blank until I remembered what he was talking about and lied through my teeth. I asked him about his _dulcinea_ and his work and the things I had noted would fill up awkward silences. He gave me a running commentary on his voyage to Romania. Again.

"Was Transylvania comfortable enough for you?"

"The coach was interesting," Harker replied, raising his eyebrows. "I've never had a ride quite like it, actually." I fell into deathly silence. He continued, unaware. "There was . . . blue fire . . . and the driver stopped the carriage and went _towards_ it . . ." Harker looked pensively into some middle distance. "It was the strangest thing I've ever seen."

. "You realize two days ago was St. George's Day." 

"Yes. The innkeeper told me."

"Of course the innkeeper told you. The townspeople are superstitious folk-" I tried hard not to drip contempt. "But that is beside the point. On St. George's Day, all evil things in the world are said to have full power and on that night they will set a blue flame over any place where treasure has been hidden. That treasure has been hidden in the region through which you came last night. There can be but little doubt. For it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or invaders. In the old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them, men and women, the aged and the children too, and waited their coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil." In Transylvania, treasure isn't just gold and silver. It has a _history_.

Harker frowned and adjusted himself in his chair. "But how can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?"

"Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool!" I snapped. Harker started and drew back somewhat. I bit my tongue, which usually calmed me down when I was aggravated. "Those flames only appear on one night, and on that night no man of this land will, if _he_ can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did, he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places again?"

"There you're right," Harker conceded, relaxing a little. "I know no more than even the dead where to look for them."

I seethed quietly for a moment and Harker nervously played with the spine of his book. Outside the cicadas and the crickets chirped. "Come," I said after a few minutes. "Tell me of London and of the house which you have procured for me."

Harker jumped to his feet. "Oh! Of course! How foolish of me, Count." He hovered there for a moment like he was unsure of what to do, but the next minute gathered his wits and took off. I started clearing off the table- well, no, that's too formal a word. More accurately, I just sort of shoved the books in the corner.

It was very dark by now. I lit three of the lamps around the room, casting a dull sickly glow over the leather-bound titles. While Harker gathered his papers, I stole his chair, picked out a book, and figured I could get in a little bit of reading. But that would be, of course, too normal.

There was an airy giggle, like it was an echo or being sounded through a long tunnel. I whipped my head up and I _swear_ I saw a flash of blonde hair somehow. Katherina being vengeful. I wanted to jump off the couch and tear apart the room looking for her and demand where the hell she'd been, and in fact might have if Mr. Harker hadn't taken that exact moment to return and drop his pile of forms unceremoniously on the table.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

I checked the spine. "English Bradshaw's Guide."

"Huh," said Mr. Harker in a politely disinterested tone. I was tempted to point out that he'd been reading _The Law List_, but refrained, instead launching into a tirade of questions. It became appallingly obvious that I was much, much more educated on the subject of my home than he. He turned several different shades of pink and red (I was again amused) before saying:

"I- I'm sorry. It seems I should have more information on the estate- but as it is, you clearly know much more than I."

"Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan," I shook my head in apology. "Nay, pardon me. I fall into my country's habit of putting your patronymic first, my friend _Jonathan Harker_ will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins." I leaned back smugly and folded my arms. "So!"

Harker indicated that this made sense to him, went back to the papers, and again surprised me. While he didn't seem to have specifics on my house, he did dive into the forms with a vengeance, shoving them under my nose, asking for the appropriate signatures, and writing a letter to Mr. Hawkins at the same time. I was impressed at his speed. And just a little bit dizzy.

"Sign here, initial here, thank you, just give that here, now initial and then s- no, no, no, initial _first_, here, I'll scratch that out, alright now try, there we go, okay, fill out these three forms and if you could add on a note to Mr. Hawkins at the end of this letter, it would be greatly appreciated."

Harker took a breath to go on, but if he kept talking like that I was going to throw up. "Please pardon me if I interrupt, but would you tell me about my new home? I'm very much eager to hear about it- the firm said that after living in a castle the estate would be to my liking."

"Oh?" said Harker blankly. One hand was holding out another file to me."Oh! Of course."

Harker retrieved a rumpled piece of paper scribbled all over in a messy, hurried hand from the recesses of his briefcase. He skimmed it, making a humming noise in his throat. "_Hmmmmmm_ . . . Ah! 'At Purfleet, on a byroad, I came across just such a place as seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place was for sale. It was surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with rust.'"

Tall, rusty, iron gates? That had potential.

"'The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old Quatre Face, as the house is four sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone-wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediaeval times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house, but I have taken with my Kodak views of it from various points. The house had been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very large house only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.'"

Twenty acres, a high stone wall, plenty of trees, a dark lake, mediaeval style house? By all accounts, it truly did sound perfect. The few, high windows would let in very little sunlight, all the better, Gloomy meant cool and dark, stone meant calm and quiet, and heavy walls would ward off stragglers. It being near a church might be a problem, but if I was careful only those who had handled the transactions would even know I lived there. As for the asylum, I found madmen to be somewhat . . . endearing. They were, after all, the only people who I could explain my presence to and then say, "That sounds about right."

I smiled a little. "I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a day, and after all, how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young, and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is attuned to mirth." I realized I sounded a little bitter. If I had any common sense I would have stopped talking, but no. "Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may."

There was a long, dark silence. Harker was watching me with new eyes- worry, distrust, possibly fear? He looked very different now, older, wiser, with his expression and the way the shadows were cast on his face. I speculated at the time that the day he began to suspect I was not all I seemed was the day his naivety died.

I was wrong, though. That came after.

I got up and adjusted my cloak. "I am sorry, but we must part company for a time. I have letters to write and send to contacts in England. There are many things to be assured for the move, as I am sure you are aware. You must be hungry- I will see about your food." I gestured to the folder-strewn table. "If we are done with the papers for tonight, it would more comfortable for us both to have them tucked away."


	8. In Which I Really Scare Harker

As soon as I was out of the room and the door was safely shut behind me, I took off. Harker was an (fairly) intelligent man and probably strong for a human, but if any of the three Brides decided they were hungry, that was it. If he was unlucky, Katherina would get her hands on him, which would inevitably lead to torture and, eventually, death from loss of blood. Absolute worst-case scenario, Elizabeth and Ava would be in there with her and go into a feeding frenzy. 

I closed my eyes and thought of the three. I heard giggling in my ears, and Katherina's low voice. There was a long wail, starting out low and quiet and picking up volume and pitch. Ava's husky voice quieted it, but only momentarily. The crying returned full volume, hitched with a noise almost like a choke, and faded off entirely.

I returned to my senses and headed for the cellar-crypt.

Katherina was easy enough to pick out with all that blonde hair, but Ava and Elizabeth were hidden in the shadows and nearly invisible. Ava had her pale arms wrapped around a white bundle, her shoulders hunched and her face down. Her black hair was coming out of its knot. She might have looked maternal to a lesser eye, but I knew her too well.

At the sound of my footsteps she looked up. Her face was warped with inhumane hunger- her eyes were widened, the pupils dilated, and the ruby irises sparkling with an insatisfiable delight. Her fangs had extended into one, one-and-a-half, inch knives, her lips were curled reminiscent of a wolf, and around it all the contours of her face had angled and sharpened. She hissed at me, open-mouthed, clutching at the faintly crying child with tensed fingers.

I stopped dead, froze solid. I had once made the mistake of walking in on Katherina when she was running on a blood high. I actually still bore one of the scars from that frenzy on my wrist from then and now took the prospect of approaching an aggressive and hungry Bride with caution. "Ava . . ." I said slowly.

With that one word, the demon was gone and Ava was back in its place. The fangs withdrew and her cheekbones softened, the lovely eyes dulled and the pupils contracted, her hands relaxed, and she exhaled a small sigh. She held the child out to Elizabeth, the only of the trio not yet bloodstained. I took another step forward and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my Ava's ear.

Katherina observed all this- my hesitation, her sister's aggression and return to earth- with amusement. She already had blood on her lips, her fingertips, and miraculously under her eyes (I was rabidly curious as to _what_ she had done that she had _blood_ under her _eyes_, but said nothing). The Brides fed the way wolves do, in order of hierarchy, and she naturally pushed her way to the first. Elizabeth, the youngest, had to wait her turn.

"Where were you?" Katherina asked.

"I was upstairs, finishing up paper work. But I could ask you the same thing."

"Oh, where were _we_ today?" she said, raising her eyebrows and widening those lovely blue eyes and otherwise feigning innocence. "Well, we're here _now_ . . ."

"Kat."

"Well, you told us to stay out of sight, so we thought-" She paused and looked at her sisters; beside her, Ava and the now bloody Elizabeth were vigorously shaking their heads _no_. I felt a sinking feeling that I was not going to like what came next. "Fine, then, _I_ thought it might be a good idea to get out of the castle and-"

"You left the _castle?!_" I bit my tongue again and pressed my hand to my forehead. "What did you do?"

"We went to the village." I put my face in my hands. "And to our credit, Harker didn't see us."

"What did you do?" I asked, my voice muffled. "Set things on fire- houses, crosses, people- steal livestock, have a killing spree, write things in blood? What?"

"Um . . . we didn't drink anything." In a much quieter tone she added, "If we stayed in one place too long, the townspeople would have stabbed us."

I groaned.

Katherina put her hands on her waist and squared her shoulders. All of her features screamed indignation. "You told us not to be seen!" she snapped. "So how could he have seen us if we weren't there, hmm? It was resourcefulness and here we- well, I- am, getting chastised for it!" Only Kat could possibly take something such as this and turn it around.

I drew myself up to my full height, scowling. "He may not have seen you, but you just wrecked havoc- _Cry havoc and let slip Katherina_- in the village, and what do you think will happen when a crowd of raging townspeople turns up outside the door with torches and stakes?"

"We can take to the air," she said indifferently. "This castle can take the wrath of a few villagers."

"And what of Harker?" I hissed. Kat's face smoothed- that had clearly not occurred to her.

Elizabeth and Ava glanced at each other; the former was taking very steps backwards into the shadows, while the latter's eyes darted from my face to her blonde sister's apprehensively, chewing on her lip. Even after three hundred years for one, two hundred for the other, the small flare-ups that came alongside bunking with vampires never failed to distress the pair. It was worse for Ava, considering she had taken it upon herself to make peace.

"He could have-" Katherina started, but Ava stepped in, putting her hands on each of our shoulders, and angled herself between us two. She said nothing, just shook her head and looking at me pleadingly with a child's eyes. Her hand was cold even through my shirt. I took a step back and a deep breath. Katherina pursed her lips and I got the uneasy feeling that she wasn't fully placated, possibly was even resentful, and a resentful Kat was dangerous to us all.

"I have to cook dinner," I said, starting to turn towards the stairs as Ava and Kat began to speak in low tones. Elizabeth, who had the smallest must-be-quiet-after-an-awkward-moment time frame I have ever seen, bounded behind me, doglike.

"How _do_ you know how to cook?" she asked. I smiled. I liked all my Brides for different reasons, Elizabeth for her genuine innocence. When she talked, there were no hidden pitfalls, no tricks to walk into. In short, she meant what she said, free and clear. "You never answered."

"Cooking is a useful skill," I replied.

"Whatever for? Blood over easy?"

I grinned. She smiled brightly and hugged my arm, leaning her head on my shoulder because that was as high as she could reach.

Elizabeth stayed with me while I laid out the things for Harker's supper, asking questions and exchanging comments. When I got out the bottle of old tokay- honestly, how the human could drink that bilge is beyond me- she observed its dark red color and asked for a taste. When it was actually in her mouth, she turned a faint shade of pink and had to run to the nearest window and spit it out. She told me later she thinks she may have hit a wolf.

By the time I managed to come down from my laughing fit, dinner was ready. Elizabeth kissed me on the cheek once and took her leave. I took another minute to calm down and went to retrieve my guest.

He was studying an almanac with furrowed brow, combing slowly through the pages, back and forth. When I entered he jumped and said in a clearly surprised voice, "_Oh_! . . . Hello, Count."

"Still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come, I am informed that your supper is ready," I said, waving him up from his perch. He did, but much too slowly. When he came within comfortable arms reach, I yanked on his sleeve and led him into the dining room.

Harker saw the one place setting, and he stood staring at it, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I explained I had already eaten while . . . away . . . but other than that he asked no questions. Like the previous night, I grilled him on England and afterward let him smoke one of those vile cigars.

England is interesting, fascinating, and somehow I picked the one guest who made it sound dull. I was fully prepared to fall into a stupor, possibly even a full-blown coma, when I heard the shrillest and, to my ears, the sweetest noise to grace the earth- a rooster crowing.

I plunged to my feet with an accidental swiftness. Harker jerked backward the way a hare would if it mistakenly stumbled upon a wolf den. I made a gesture indicating my guest's bedroom, saying, "Why there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of England less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us." I bowed and with that, left my guest sitting by the fire.

----------------------------------------------

The next morning I didn't sleep very long at all. When I awoke, it was still daylight out, although not for particularly long. Judging by the shadows, it was more or less nine o'clock.

Allow me to here dispel a common myth. Sunlight is not harmful. I find it annoyingly bright and warm and am generally less able in daytime, but it does not reduce me to a pile of ashes. As well, "normal" food is edible for me, although it rarely suits my taste and offers no nutritional value.

But let's move forward.

The Brides were all three tucked in their coffins (the Brides were nestled all snug in their small wooden beds, while dreams of dead children danced in their heads) and they were no longer quite so bloody. I guessed Harker was more or less safe for another night.

Upstairs I took care of Harker's dirty dishes and put them away. After this I laid out a new meal- humans need to eat much more than is convenient. I assumed he was still asleep, having gone to bed at sunrise at the earliest, but I heard the sound of footsteps moving around, a _thump_, the click of metal on metal, and a _sccchhhhh-sccchhhh_ kind of sound. He must have been afflicted with the same insomnia I had. Living with a human was turning my days into nights and my nights into days.

I pushed open the door. Harker was dressed, seated with his back to the door, hunched over. I couldn't see his hands, but one shoulder was moving.

_ Oh no, no, no, no, PLEASE don't let him be_-

But I have seen worse things than what I hoped to God I wasn't _about_ to see, so I hesitantly reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. He jumped a mile and half-turned in his chair and I practically cried with relief. Shaving. He was _shaving_.

He was staring at me with round blue marbles instead of eyes, pale as fresh-fallen snow. One hand was holding a shaving knife, the other clenched tightly around a- mirror. A mirror I was standing in full view of, and at the same time not. According to it, he was the only living creature in the room.

Harker could have passed for a statue of marble. I'm sure, though, I faired no better. We were both frozen dead, staring blankly at each other; he was too surprised to call me on it and I was too surprised at having my "true nature" caught in such a brutally obvious way.

And then I noticed the thin stream of blood slowly making its way down his throat like a climbing rose, dark against his pale skin. I stared at it. Very slowly, Harker raised his hand to his throat.

I was so very, very hungry.

_ Oh, son of a_-

Of its own volition, one hand shot out. If I- or at least my arm- had its way, I would have clawed out my guest's throat then and there and quenched my aching thirst, regardless of what people would think, how I would cover his death. I think nothing in my hunger would have made a difference, except maybe-

_ Oh_! Harker drew back. Something hot touched my hand and I jerked it back out of reflex, pulling it into a fist, looking to see what I'd accidentally grabbed. It was a cross and rosary hanging around his neck- I'd touched the beads. It looked aggravatingly similar to what that innkeeper had been wearing. I bristled.

"Take care. Take care how you cut yourself," I said through clenched teeth. "It is more dangerous than you think in this country." I looked down at the mirror, which he had dropped; I was still invisible in its eyes, but Harker was staring at me too hard to pay it any heed. I bent and picked it up, and shook it like a dog worrying a bone. "And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief- it is a foul bauble of a man's vanity." I stalked to the window and wrenched it open. "Away with it!"

I dropped the glass. It fell for what seemed to be an eternity. When it finally struck the unforgiving stone beneath it, there was a most terrible and somehow extremely satisfying shatter and Mr. Harker's faithful shaving mirror came to an untimely end.

Like a coward, I fled the room. 


	9. In Which a Vampire Throws a Bottle

I didn't go upstairs for a very long time. Katherina, who thrived on disorder, liked to take books downstairs with her and leave them in corners with their pages all wrinkled and dusty. It drove me insane, but today I scrounged around and came up with a few long novels. _War and Peace_ was all bent up and had some sort of dark stain on the cover. I didn't even ask myself. Knowing less is generally better where Kat is concerned.

I read for a while. A very, very long while- when I calculated it later it came to fifteen hours, but I have learned patience- to the point where the shadows turned deep and dark and lengthened like uncoiling serpents on the stone floor.

This was the time when the Brides awoke. I always found the rituals they went through, the traditions they observed, to very amusing, but they were an interesting trio; Katherina, who considered herself alpha, Ava who politely loved Kat but did not always wish to adhere to her rules, and Elizabeth, who wasn't sure what was going on half the time.

As always, Katherina awoke first by kicking open her coffin door. The casket was ornate mahogany and carved in with elaborate amaryllis blossoms. I'd meant the flowers as a joke- "amaryllis" meant "pride" as far as their language went- but Kat didn't know that and I felt no pull to tell her.

Katherina glanced at me and nodded slightly as if to acknowledge my presence, and started circling the other two sarcophaguses like a hawk circles prey. She was making that half-purr half-hum noise in her throat, which was typical of when she was deliberating on something. Kat, you see, enjoyed being a vampire wake-up call much more than is healthy.

Ava and Elizabeth's coffins were oak and bore the same design, albeit with different blossoms- Ava with white lilies and red rosebuds for Elizabeth. Katherina examined this, still circling slowly. Without warning, one long, pale hand shot out, wrenched open the rose-adorned coffin, and yanked up its half-sleeping inhabitant by the sleeve. Elizabeth yelped and squirmed. Katherina dropped her back down.

"Ka_at_!" Elizabeth groused loudly. The top of her dress was twisted out of place- she righted it. "_Why do you_ _always_- ?"

"Shh," Katherina said serenely. She paused and flexed her hands before clawing up Ava's casket lid. Unlike the youngest, Ava was not hoisted upward by the arm nor did she show any sign that there might have been another way she wanted to wake up. To the contrary, she sat up, primly climbed to her feet, and brushed off her dress like she was perfectly content.

Katherina, what with getting the wake-up call out of her system, took a step towards me and made an exaggerated curtsy. "My _Master_," she said in a droll, pretentious voice. "My _gratitude _that you have _graced_ us with your _attention_."

"You don't forgive, do you?"

She bowed this time, although somewhat bitterly.

Elizabeth looked from me to Kat. "Why are you down _here?_" she asked. Her face, her demeanor, it all rang of sincerity and naivety. But nevertheless Ava and I flinched; Katherina's lovely red mouth twisted and showed her bared bottom teeth. "I thought that you were going to be with the guest for a month?"

"Elizabeth," Ava said quietly, putting a hand on her wrist, but her sister continued unaware.

"Yes, we're not allowed to roam freely for the next month, isn't it?" I still detected no trapdoors in her words, but Katherina drew herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders. Ava took visible steps toward the stairs, but she knew as well as I that no one was escaping now.

"So! Why _aren't_ you with your guest?" Katherina snapped. "I thought that it required your _full concentration_ to purchase the London house, didn't it? That, god forbid, if this Mr. Harker, whomever he is, sees a glimpse of us he'll just lose his mind and go screaming into the streets?"

"Most likely," I said. "He doesn't have much strength in him, I don't think."

"Very funny," she hissed in a steely voice. She glanced at the ceiling, grinding her teeth, and I kicked _War and Peace_ into the corner.

"I don't think he was joking," Ava said, studying me apprehensively.

"He might go screaming into the streets anyway," I pointed out as Katherina was opening her mouth to make another argument. She paused- Ava sensed an opening and seized it.

"Oh dear, what _did_ you do to that poor man?" she demanded in a very loud, rather un-Ava-like voice. She wasn't dim, Ava. I explained my slip and moment of panic in great detail, and with some exaggeration (but if it placated Katherina, it was completely and entirely worth it). The story stretched out to a surprising length and by its end Kat was giggling.

I glanced out the window. It was eleven thirty by this time, and I figured I had hidden in my basement for as long, probably longer, as I safely could. Besides, I was annoyingly stiff and really, _really_ wanted to get up and stretch. I clambered less than gracefully to my feet and brushed off myself off. Elizabeth tilted her head; she looked like a dog. "You have to go upstairs again?" she asked sympathetically. When I nodded she paused and said hesitantly, "Could we come with you?"

"But of course. What it is that you wish, feel free to do. Run wild, wreck terror in the night, if you so desire it."

"Seriously?" Elizabeth said, a little too eagerly.

"No. But you may come upstairs."

The three followed me back up. I was starting to feel like there were two worlds in this castle: that of vampires and that of men. Of course, once I left for London, there would be _only_ men, and most likely it would be that way for a while.

After a quick check of Harker's whereabouts (he was in the library . . . surprise!) I started cooking. I assumed the Brides would scatter to the winds once they were free to do what they liked, but they stayed in the dining room, and I was grateful. They made the room considerably less quiet and I'd had as much quiet as I could stand.

"I hope Mr. Harker wasn't too fond of this old tokay," I pointed out as I poured out the last of it. I, for one, was not unhappy to see it go, and apparently Elizabeth shared my sentiments; she clutched her throat with both hands, made a grotesque face, and sunk dramatically to the floor.

"An actress, and only two hundred years old," Ava said wryly. "Isn't she skilled, Master?"

"Amazingly."

Katherina rolled her eyes- whether she'd gotten over our previous spat I could not tell- and took the bottle out of my hands. Instead of examining the label like I'd figured she would, she took it over to the window and drew back the dark curtains.

"Ah, Katherina-"

"How far do you think I could throw this?" she interrupted, tossing the bottle from hand to hand without looking. I expected it to crash and shatter on the floor, but with her level of coordination, it did not. "Any of you?"

"Quite far, I'm sure, but-" Before I could say more, she threw it out the window. The tinted glass bottle went sailing off into the horizon until it became a tiny black dot. Kat looked rather impressed with herself; Ava, Elizabeth, and I'm sure myself bore looks of confusion.

"Well, you've thankfully put an end to the haunting question 'How far can a vampire throw a bottle,' but dinner's ready," I paused. "But if you stay out of the vicinity of Harker's room and the library, feel free to roam as you see fit." Ava smiled, pressed her hands together like a child praying and the three scattered to the winds.


	10. In Which there is Blatant Forshadowing

I retrieved Harker; he seemed subtly different, more wary, but he followed me into the dining room and ate the food all the same. He said absolutely nothing while he dined until he finished and said something I would never have thought I'd hear him say, ever-

"So, tell me more about Transylvanian history."

Ah! If nothing else, I was an expert in _that_. I gave him a play-by-play on the great races and the battles they fought in, the glory when they won, the misery they suffered when they lost. It was, to me, a subject of endless fascination, and at the time it seemed Harker thought so as well, but it turned out later to be something entirely different holding his attention.

"Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race, that we were proud, that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back?" I had said much more than this, but it is not particularly important to the story at hand, and I will skip it.

"'We?'" Mr. Harker said, raising his eyebrows. "As in 'including myself?'"

. "As you know, I am a Boyar." He nodded. "In nobility, victory and tragedy is not for one, it is to be shared with the past and future aristocrats. I claim stake in _their_ triumphs, as future generations will stake claim in _mine_." After I explained this, he made an affirmative noise and gesture, and I continued. My family history is one laced with - well, "soaked in" might be more accurate- bloodshed and death and destruction, but I would have it no other way. 

"The warlike days are over," I finished pensively. "Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonorable peace, and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told."

Mr. Harker was giving me the same odd look- leery, distrusting- he had after I explained that I was pleased Carfax wasn't bright and cheerful. He looked like he was weighing his options- possibly going out the window- when the sun began to rise anew through the castle window. He went wordlessly to his corner, and I to mine.

The next few days passed without incident. I was beginning to feel like Harker was watching me very closely; as a result I tried to seem "normal." With this ideal, I came up with the Four Commandments: thou shalt not turn into miscellaneous creatures of night, thou shalt not let thy guest see thy Brides, where thy guest might see, thou shalt not slip thy tongue, and _especially_ thou shalt not panic at the sight of blood. Commandments One was of some difficulty when it came to leaving the castle and thus _getting food_. I figured I could ignore the hunger for long enough. I was old. I could wait.

What never occurred to me, however, was how the Brides handled being thirsty. (In case you were wondering, the answer would be "not well.") I had never kept them waiting too long for their dinner, but nevertheless I assumed they could handle it like I could.

Needless to say, this was not so. But I was unaware, and on May 11th, I moved onto what Kat called Phase Two.

First thing, I cornered Harker in the library. He was reorganizing his files, I assume, since huge stacks of crumpled paper had all but taken over the desk. How he'd fit them all into one briefcase was a mystery. Perhaps he had two.

"Mr. Harker," I said over the rustling of files. He looked up. "If possible, _herr_, I would like to ask you some questions about your business."

He waved me into the only other chair at the table like it was his office. The man had taken over _my_ library and had the audacity to wave _me_ into _my_ seat. I sat down, fuming quietly. I couldn't find a place to put my hands, since I couldn't place them on the table for fear of inadvertently knocking over one of his heaping piles of forms, and had to settle for my lap.

Instead of letting my annoyance show, I asked him my questions: could I have more than one solicitor, assigning one to each task, whether I could contact and give each one instructions individually as opposed to sending directives through a network? The answer to these was both yes, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.

While I was in his mock office, he took the advantage to shove some _more_ papers under my nose- although he didn't talk about them . . . that was nice- and after I signed them, I kept up with Phase Two.

"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins, or to any other?"

"I am afraid not," said Harker, adding with a touch of resentment. "I have yet to find the time."

There was no way he _couldn't_ have found the goddamned time, considering how much of it he spent alone, unless he was enjoying some bong hits while I was away. I twisted my face into what I hoped was a smile, but probably came off as a snarl. "Then write now, my young friend," I gritted out. _Young friend_ was the last thing I wanted this incompetent fool to be to me. I reminded myself that when his purpose was served, I would have the satisfaction of watching the Brides kill him. "Write to our friend and to any other, and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now."

"Do you wish me to stay so long?" Harker squeaked. Emotions flitted across his face: surprise, paranoia (although that last was not too unreasonable), and undiluted terror. Terror, hmm? I thought I'd been subtler than that, but apparently not.

Mr. Harker swallowed visibly and bowed a little- oh, the things one picks up in Transylvania! I smirked a little and began pulling out envelopes and stationary, which I set in front of my guest. He did not touch them, just sat and stared, looking faintly seasick. I continued, "I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?"

Harker looked at the letter-writing paper and then at me, and something in his mind clicked into place. Without further hesitation he began writing; I did likewise to some contacts in England and Transylvania. I only wrote half the letters needed because I suspected Harker was peeking.

By the time my letters and his had been sealed and stamped and ensconced comfortably in my pocket, I was a little sick of his company. "I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private this evening." Well, by now it was morning, technically. "You will, I hope, find all things as you wish." I started through the doorway but paused halfway through. "Let me advise you, my dear young friend- nay, let me _warn_ you, with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then . . ." I left the rest to his imagination, however gruesome that might be. It was evidently very much so; Harker looked like a rabbit in the eyes of a wolf.

I went to an empty room and finished my letters. It was nothing particularly interesting, just a few notes going to London, Whitby (the town where Carfax was located), Varna, and Buda Pest. After, I sealed them and carefully hid them in a drawer. By now, though, it was nearly dawn. I was tired, and the quickest way to the basement and thus _my coffins_ was down the wall.

I climbed out the window and crawled face-first down my castle's exterior. It was more comfortable from centuries of habit, not to mention faster. It took me twenty minutes going downstairs the "conventional" way, as opposed to five minutes going down a wall.

I climbed in through a window and jumped ten feet to the floor. It was quiet down here as well. The Brides, I assumed, had gone to sleep. I was about to follow their example when something tapped my shoulder.

I started and turned around. I thought for certain it was Katherina come to bitch- er, complain- about _something_, but there was no way the girl with the black hair in a bun and scarlet eyes could be mistaken for Kat.

"Ava? What can I do for you?"

Ava's white dress was incredibly bright in the gloom; she stood out like a beacon or as an angel would in Hell. She still didn't say anything and she didn't look at me, instead choosing to watch the ceiling. She appeared to be deliberating.

I waited.

When she did eventually speak, it was slowly and with precision, choosing her words with great care. This never failed to make me uneasy; when the Brides did something troublesome, they generally forced Ava to come and tell me what had undegone. This exact thing had happened when Katherina "accidentally" killed someone and brought a young vampire hunter to our door- a Mr. Van Halen or Van Helping or Van _H-something_, at least, a good forty-odd years ago- or when Elizabeth's brother was throwing things at the castle- when she was newly created, 200 years ago.

"Master . . . I don't mean to . . . interrupt your work, but I've been appointed to speak with you . . . on behalf of my sisters. We feel we need to . . . that you should be aware of . . . something."

This was not going to end well, I could say that much now. "And what do I need to be aware of?"

"Our hunger!" Ava said, louder (much louder) than she needed to, and bit her lip and clasped her hands together. Again, she chose her words with care. "Master, we haven't eaten in a while and we're _so_ hungry . . ." She looked at me with pleading eyes, childlike in their size and texture.

I nodded, but the sun was already rising; Ava watched it with a resigned expression. "I will, but I cannot tonight. This evening, I promise."

She smiled. "Thank you, Master."


	11. In Which We See More of the Girls

Legal matters with Harker- I was really looking forward to killing him now- took up too much time and the first chance I had to get the Brides blood was the sixteenth. But I did go as soon as I got leave to shake off my guest.

I returned at night, maybe at midnight, with a child. This one was also sick, consumption, I think it was this time. As I flapped back in through a window, it uttered a tiny, shrill, birdlike cry. I would have expected the Brides to come flocking to the sound, as they had so many times before, and drink deep, but none of them, not even Katherina, appeared.

not_ right_, a little voice in my head whispered. 

"Shut up!" I snapped aloud and started to walk towards the basement. I would have crawled down a wall if I hadn't been occupied with a child. The baby made another sound, louder this time, and still no one appeared. _They can hear it, I know they can, where the hell_ are

Without realizing it, I'd walked directly past Harker's room. The door was mostly shut- odd- and I peeked through the small crack into the chamber. It was empty. The bed had not been touched. It was midnight, and he wasn't in his room.

Of its own volition, my mind began to supply things from the past, passing phrases and glances. _We're_ so_ hungry_, Ava had said. Katherina's resentment. My warning not to sleep anywhere but his room.

Oh. My. God.

I was in full-blown panic mode by now. I had to find the Brides, I had to do it _now_, I had to do it _quickly_. I balled my hands into fists in an attempt to slow myself down, bit my tongue, closed my eyes and thought of them- they had to be in the castle somewhere, anywhere-

There was Harker, laying down on a couch with his head tilted back and his throat exposed, bathed in moonlight, dust on the floor with only one set of footprints leading to him. Soprano laughter all around him.

Elizabeth's voice: "Go on! You are first, and we shall follow. Your's is the right to begin."

Ava, although slightly hesitant. "He is young and strong . . . there are kisses enough for us all."

There was a balcony facing the east and south that had that couch in the corner and on a night like tonight, probably moonlight. Why, though, Harker would be over there made no sense whatsoever, but I started running for it nonetheless.

I found the door to the balcony and ran into it, shoulder-first. There wasn't a contest, the door offered no resistance at all. In fact, I nearly tripped after I knocked it half off its hinges with an earsplitting _CRASH_, but I caught myself at the last second. To free my hands, I dropped my bag on the floor.

Harker was sprawled on the couch as I'd seen, but now Katherina was on her knees before him. She seemed almost peaceful; her eyes were closed smoothly and her eyebrows raised in calm, but her fangs had protruded like knives and rested on _herr_'s jugular vein.

I plunged forward and grabbed the back of her neck and hurled her off. At once, the vision of serenity vanished. The porcelain doll I knew and loved was replaced by something fueled by hellfire.

Katherina smacked into the opposite wall and barely saved herself from falling to the floor. She uttered one lupine growl- and that was all. Not that she came back to earth- her face was no longer _quite_ so angular and her fangs receded, but her eyes were overbright, her hands were clenched into clawed talons, and spots of blush appeared along her cheekbones. She was tensed to spring, but I waved her and the others back; Elizabeth and Ava shrank back into the wall and put their faces in their hands.

"_How dare you touch him, any of you!_" I half-shouted, half-snarled. "_How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with ME!_"

Katherina laughed shrilly, but there was no humor in it. She was shaking, she was so mad. "You yourself never loved!" she cried incoherently. "You never love!"

That comment threw me a little- for one, how it ended up in the conversation to begin with was a good question on its own. It sounded to me, though, that her line of thought was _If you loved us, you'd have brought us food- you didn't, therefore we are unloved_ but she was too angry and hungry to think straight. She certainly looked it.

I half-turned and examined Harker- there were no marks on his throat, or anywhere else that I could see. Relief flooded my system. Disaster avoided for another night, hopefully. "Yes, I too can love. You yourselves can tell it from the past, is it not so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will." Katherina in particular perked up at that one. "Now go! Go! I must awaken him, for there is work to be done."

Ava, who so far tonight had said nothing, could no longer contain herself. "Are we to have to have nothing tonight?" she asked- well, demanded, really- pointing at the bag I'd dropped. She knew already that it was meant for her and her sisters, since her fangs were already slowly coming out, but I nodded anyway.

Elizabeth jumped forward and snatched the sack off the floor like a snake strikes, shrank back into the shadows with her prize, and opened it. The baby inside made that chirp again. Katherina sucked in a rattling hiss; she and Ava drew in around Elizabeth and formed a tight circle around the bag and with it, the child inside.

As I watched, they faded off the way into the moonlight.

When I was sure Ava, Elizabeth, and Katherina had gone I had to carry Harker back to his bed. This was a fairly awkward and demeaning experience because I'd _told_ him to sleep in _his_ room _only_ and the bastard went on and slept somewhere else and just about got his throat ripped out for it and _I _had to save him. Good riddance if he had undied, but he had more to do a little more before I let the Brides sink their teeth into him.

Then when he was back in his bed, I realized that it wouldn't convince him much it was a dream if he woke up in his clothes. Did I want my vampire Brides exposed for what they were . . . or have to un/redress another grown man?

I chose Option One without any hesitation. Vampire Lord or no, there are some things I draw the line at. Maybe I could get the Brides (or one of, at least) to do it later.

I went back to the balcony he'd fallen asleep on. Slamming into it one-shouldered had snapped one hinge- the whole door was now greatly off kilter. I shoved the door back into its place, splintering the top of the doorframe- goddamned castle was falling down all over- and locked it from the inside. Harker would not set foot in this room again, not if I could help it. As far as he knew (hopefully) he would assume he'd dreamt the charming little balcony and the Brides.

There was nothing else to do but confront the Brides now, and I figured there was no better time to do so. I wasn't so blindly irate, and so considered my options.

Option one- ignore the incident entirely. But if I didn't get it into their heads that going after _my_ guest was intolerable, Kat would convince them to do it again, and again. Ava might stand up to her, but only if she was positive it was unacceptable.

Option two- yell and throw things. That would be entirely acceptable if I wanted them to spend the rest of their black little lives hiding in corners. As much as the Brides annoyed me, I _did_ love them. They kept away the silence and the loneliness the castle held for centuries upon centuries, and without the three talking and bickering and laughing, I would have gone mad very long ago.

Option three- tell them it was very, very wrong and that they were _not_ to do it again. It sounded creepily father-like, but it was the best I could come up with. Oh, and maybe get them to do me a favor.

I started back toward Harker's room.

-----------------------------------------------

They had forsaken the basement, their usual hideout, for another, equally aloof room pointing to the northeast. When I came in, holding a bundle of clothes, they were seated in a circle on the floor- the only piece of furniture there was a chest against the wall- speaking in low tones, but they quieted when I entered. There was no sack and there was no child, but there was blood, and a damn lot of it too. I did not ask for any specifics.

Even Katherina knew she was in trouble, because she stayed at her seat, looking at the floor. Usually, when I came into a room, Kat got up and stood next to me (although I am still not sure, but was possibly a habit from her human days as a courtesan. It was her one socially acceptable custom). The other two cringed downwards into the floor and said nothing.

"Master?" Katherina said shrilly. I knew then that she was genuinely sorry- or at least afraid- because the only time she referred to me as _Master_ was when she was at a loss for power and knew it. I looked at her now; her whole demeanor was of a child awaiting punishment for some sin. "Master, please . . . are you terribly angry with us?"

"Am I terribly angry? I'm furious at all three of you. You disobeyed me purposely, you nearly killed a man I needed- need- _alive_, and you practically wrecked all of my plans for moving." I paused here. "But am I correct in assuming you were starving?"

They said nothing, just watched me distrustfully. "Yes," said Ava finally. "We were hungry."

"And is it also correct that it is _my_ responsibility to care for and feed you three?"

Some more silence, but Katherina perked up infinitesimally.

"If you do not know the answer, as it appears, I will answer it for you. It is. I'm willing to forget this whole incident, provided it _never_ happens again, _ever_, and you do me a favor." Katherina sighed- I suspected that what she was thinking differed greatly from what I was thinking- and I held out the bundle of clothes. "Kat, if you could please dress Mr. Harker in this garb, it would be greatly appreciated."

Kat stared at the bundle of clothes. "Are you _serious_?" she yelped indignantly. "I thought you meant, like-"

"I know what you thought I meant, and I don't. I am, however curious, if I hadn't walked in, would you have actually bitten Mr. Harker or would you have thought better of it?"

Katherina got up, grabbed the clothing out of my hands and stalked out of the room. There was a sound like a door slamming, followed by what might have been a door breaking. I was both annoyed and impressed by her turn-around time. Pitiful to haughty in 1.2 seconds. Ava looked physically pained.

I ground my teeth but took a seat on the ground. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows; the Brides sit on the floor all the time, even in fully furnished rooms (which exasperates me to no end) but I, as a general rule, do not.

A very long, uncomfortable silence.

Ava eventually broke it. "Master, I'm sorry," she said, and her voice cracked. She sounded like she was going to burst into tears in a second; Elizabeth, seated on her left, wordlessly learned her head on her sister's shoulder. Ava sucked in a breath. "Truly, I am."

"Avalynn Rosalie Dracula," That, too, was father-like, and just as creepy. "Calm down. While I was not- _am not_- pleased you went and nearly killed someone I need, just . . . don't . . . do it . . . again." Well, that was just a ringing endorsement of my authority, wasn't it? I mentally kicked myself.

Elizabeth started playing with her hair; Ava turned her around and started braiding. "Do you have any idea when you're going to be _done_?" the former asked. I thought she was talking to her sister and was opening my mouth to say something along the lines of _Shut up and let her braid your hair_, when she added, "Master?"

"Lizzie, sh- oh, um, soon, hopefully." I smiled. "Count your blessings that I am dealing with him and you are not. I promise you three will get him the second I'm finished, is that fair?"

Elizabeth started to say something else, but Katherina strode in. "Your door's broken," she said shortly, but she sat back down next to me, so I supposed I was mostly forgiven. "Don't you ever make me do that again."

"Kat, please."

"Don't 'Kat, please,' me. If I'm not drinking from your stupid guest, I'm not touching him." She gave me a basilisk glare. "I am your Bride, not your . . . your . . ." Katherina was clearly at a loss for words. This was a strange phenomenon, talked about, rumored, but never seen. Truly am I blessed. "Your . . . guest . . . re-dresser . . . girl."

"Strong words from a retired harlot," I pointed out, and Elizabeth burst out laughing. Ava had better sense than that, and kept very, very quiet.

"I was not a harlot," she snapped. "I was a courtesan, but I wouldn't expect you to know the difference, _Lord_." I loved her sarcasm, biting as it was.

"Say what you wish, Katherina, but that doesn't mean I need to necessarily believe you." Ava had pressed her lips together tightly and taken a sudden and complete interest in the ceiling; Elizabeth sounded like she was choking on her own laughter; Kat was staring at me with a look that could freeze blood.

"_You_ didn't mind much," she said. "But I would have hoped you'd tip."

I couldn't think of a suitable response to that one. I did later, of course, and some of them rather witty and cutting, but at the moment I drew a blank. "Very well," I said after perhaps five minutes had gone by. "I will give you that."

Kat smirked.

"He would have, but you were booked solid!" Ava yelled and then clasped her hands to her mouth. All I could see of her were huge burgundy eyes staring at Katherina. I could just picture her thinking

Kat was winding up for the counterpunch. I waved one hand in front of her face. "Katherina, Ava, Elizabeth, the dawn cometh with its blinding light. Hasten to thy tombs, for there shalt be darkness aplenty for thy taking."

"I hate it when you talk like that," Kat said. She glanced at her fellow Brides, not for long, just a second, and evaporated. Elizabeth followed suit.

The instant she was gone, Ava grabbed my arm. "If you are halfway decent, you will not leave me alone with Katherina. Did you _see_ that _look_? She's fuming now, she's _not_ happy with me because you stopped her, she's _mad_ now."

"Ava, she looked at you." Katherina's been with me for four hundred years, Ava three hundred, and Elizabeth two hundred (I was considering getting a fourth, but feared for my safety with four hormonal girls in the castle, and so stuck with three) and I still do not understand women. I fear I never will. I know what to say, I know how to say it, and why that's the right way to do things is still beyond me. "You're paranoid."

"Are you _blind_? How could you not _see _that?

"Ava, you're irrational. Come along." She took my sleeve in a death grip and went downstairs. Kat was just getting into her coffin- with a rather large smile- and Elizabeth was hiding in a corner. Ava gave me a look that said _I told you so_ loud and clear.

"Paranoid," I repeated.


	12. In Which We Meet the Gypsies

In the next few days, Harker made no mention of the little balcony and the Brides. He never asked to go back to the room and I never pointed out that he had ignored my rules and slept elsewhere. With this, this silence he was keeping, I moved forward in Operation Secure London House.

On May 18th, I asked him again about the letters. For once, he wasn't in the library, just his room; I'd thought the man would grow roots if he spent any more time in with the books. When I knocked on the door, he answered and bade me enter, albeit a little warily.

"Hello, Count." A pause too long to be appropriate. "Please, come in."

I side-stepped around him and into the room. Nothing was broken, but everything looked worse than before Mr. Harker took up residence here. The furniture looked duller, the floor cluttered with loose odds and ends, and papers were lying loosely and crumpled on the desk. All over the desk. I glanced back at Harker with annoyance; he was still in the doorway. He was no longer pretending to not keep his distance, and for some reason I preferred that to pretending we actually liked each other.

"Mr. Harker, you have been in Transylvania for a little over two weeks now and I am sure your friends and family are anxious to hear from you, particularly your fiancé, is it not so?"

"I've already written letters and given them to you," he said curtly. "They should not be anxious, unless you did not send them."

"I sent them, but I am afraid the post here is rather unreliable. Letters are far too easily lost and when they are not, it takes very long to reach the next post. Therefore it might put their hearts- Mina's heart- at ease if you wrote to them ahead of time." Harker's expression was growing more and more hopeless as I talked. "If you were to write three letters now- one saying your work is nearly done and will start home in a few days, one saying that you leave tomorrow for certain, and one saying that you have arrived at Bistritz- I can take them to the nearest post myself and ensure they are not misplaced."

Harker looked like he was going to sink to the floor in despair and weariness- a more exhausted creature I have ever seen. If I had not grown to loathe him dearly over the last fifteen days, I might have felt pity for him. As it was, I did not. "What dates would you like on the letters?" he asked dully.

I considered. "The first should be June 12, the second June 19,and the third June 29."

Harker nodded blankly. I smirked, bowed, and took my leave. As soon as I closed the door I heard a _thunk_ that was either something falling through the ceiling or my guest hitting something. I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing out loud. That seems cruel, but it was funny at the time.

I walked down the hallway and past a window. There were clusters of people standing in my front yard, a fact which did not register with me for five minutes. When it did, I had to run to the next window and look out in closer detail.

It was gypsies, Szgany to be exact. These are lawless nomads who more or less attach themselves financially, lamprey-like, to an aristocrat. Most often they took the aristocrats' family name as well. Katherina felt they were "take out" for her, Ava hated them with a passion (one ignorant man had made the mistake of staring at her for too long . . . he's no longer with us), and I'm not sure Elizabeth even knew they were there.

Despite my Brides' aversion to them, I enjoyed the gypsies, even found them endearing. What I liked best, I supposed, was that nothing fazed them. They've seen me scale walls, become a wolf, a bat, a mist, and pick up their caravan one (I'd mostly been showing off that last time) and they never blinked. I found that amusing every time. If they got paid, all was well with the world.

I looked down; Katherina, one story down, was sticking her head out the window. I heard her talking in low tones to someone else, Ava I presumed, and then turned and glanced upward. When she saw me she smirked and pointed at the gypsies. I started shaking my head no, but no use; she jumped down anyway.

. 

I climbed over the window ledge and hopped down approximately five stories to the ground. As I said before, the gypsies were unimpressed. Mostly they were watching Kat walk towards them- idiots. I had to run, grab her arm, yank her back, and clap a hand over her mouth before I felt comfortable enough to say "_Empfang, zigeuner_." (Welcome, gypsies) and give a smile, even a strained one.

The man Katherina had been going for was still staring at her. He was tall and wiry, with two earrings in one ear and one gold tooth, and kept his dark brown hair tied in a ponytail. Without taking his eyes off her- _he was staring at Katherina, Katherina is MINE, not HIS_- he said something in the gypsy dialect. The Szgany have their own version of the Romanian language, one I didn't speak, and thus had to guess at what he was saying. I believe he was asking something along the lines of "Who is she?"

"Katherina," I said loudly and slowly, although of course not in English. "Unfortunately, Katherina has to go inside now, because Katherina is a dangerous vixen, right Kat?" Kat was giving me the Look of Death, but I ignored her.

The man with the earring- Earring Man- turned around and said something to the rest of the group behind him. I'm not sure what he told them, but they immediately started yelling, and it didn't sound good. Poor Katherina's status had dropped from Countess to Cutthroat Eye Candy. Shame, especially since she'd only come out here to kill a few people, drink some blood, and take a couple hostages.

The man was still staring at Kat- well, not so much at her in general, just . . . certain areas- and I stepped in front of her. He looked disappointed; I only wished it was Ava out here and not Katherina. "Do you have any business here?" I asked him, trying to suppress the anger that he wouldn't take his eyes off the girl that was _mine_.

Earring Man shrugged and said something similar to "Just passing by."

I knew what their definition of "passing by" was. "Passing by" meant "You don't get your yard back for another six months, so we hope you're not attached to it." Katherina was apparently thinking the same thing, as her glare shifted from me to Earring Man. She made an indignant noise behind my hand. "_MmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMM_."

, I thought. _They start "passing by" when I'm busy. Just great_. I really do like the gypsies, but they have very bad timing, as evidenced by the fact that they show up when I'm in the middle of moving. I sighed. "I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to." 

Earring Man shrugged again- he was very good conversation- and said something else I didn't catch. He walked off; Katherina pulled my hand off her mouth and gave me a dirty look.

"You are so controlling," she snapped.

"I try. It would be nice, though, if you didn't attempt to kill _everyone_ alive in the vicinity of the castle. It gets rather tiresome, trying to stop you."

"You need to accept me for what I am," Katherina said gravely. If I hadn't known this girl for the past four centuries, I wouldn't have known she was joking. "We are who we are, as the conventional wisdom goes."

"That's very deep, Katherina."


	13. In Which Our Cover is Blown by a Baby

A considerably long time after this, I was doing some housecleaning near the front door- damned guest cuts into everything. I was sweeping, mostly, and was pretty much entirely focused on the ground when there was a loud pounding on the doors of my castle.

I paused and cocked my head. The banging continued, this time accompanied by a voice on the other side of the heavy, well-locked door: "_Offen, Zählt, offen die tür._"

Gypsies. _How odd_, I thought, but nevertheless I went over and started pulling back the bolts. They usually tried to get my attention when I was leaving the house, such as for food, but rarely when I was in my castle. Perhaps they were eager to see Kat, delicate little murderess that she was. If they _had_ come for _my_ Bride, well, this wouldn't be the first time. It also would not be the first time I'd ripped out somebody's throat for it, either. But I digress.

I pulled the door back with my foot and sure enough, there stood Mr. Eunuchoid Earring Man. Lovely. He looked somewhat anxious, shifting his weight from foot to foot and staring over my right shoulder.

"_Was ist Ihr zweck_?" (What is your purpose?)

Earring Man grinned nervously; the gesture looked like a whining dog. At close range, he seemed noticeably lupine . . . no, coyote, not wolf. Weedy, scrawny, and financially hungry- yes, that was a coyote. He pulled something out of the inside of his vest and handed them to me.

It was two envelopes, light tan and rumpled, sealed in smooth, red wax. Earring Man kept on shifting his weight and licking his lips anxiously, none of which bettered my opinion of him. I opened each letter slowly and skimmed it.

The first was addressed to Mr. Hawkins, explaining that he must go to a Miss Murray (Mina, I thought. Harker had never told me her maiden name but it was her, I knew it) who had a message for him. The second was addressed to the same Murray, but inside the envelope there were no words, only meaningless scribbles.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

I looked up at Earring Man, and he shrunk back. "_Wo haben sie diese erhalten_?" I demanded, waving the letters in his face. "_Wer hat sie ihnen gegeben_?" (Where did you get these? Who gave them to you?) _If you say Harker, he _dies.

Earring Man gave a liquid reply of some extremely butchered Romanian and pointed upward.

There was any number of ways that could be interpreted, one of them being God had handed him a couple envelopes and said, "Pass it on." Another, considerably more reasonable, theory, was Harker had thrown them out the window at the gypsies, attempting to get them posted.

I look the letters, thanked him- in a rather tight voice- and started to close the door; Earring Man braced his forearms against the entrance in the universal sign for "NONONO DON'T SHUT THE DOOR!" and from there more or less shoved his head, shoulders, and upper body into my house.

"_Nr_," he yelped. It must have been difficult to talk when he was stuck like that. "_Ich habe mehr_!" (No! I have more!)

I paused and let up on the door a little; Earring Man gasped, put one hand on his chest as if to check I hadn't crushed him to death, and with the other reached inside his vest and pulled something out. It was a small, dully gleaming, single gold piece. He pointed upward again, and then held the coin out like an offering.

I shook my head no. A gold piece is not of much worth. I could probably find thirty of them in my pockets if I needed to and it still wouldn't be an impressive amount, for me at least. Earring Man pointed over my shoulder and made some hand motions indicating . . . femininity.

"_Wo ist das blonde mädchen_?" (Where is the blonde girl?)

I stared at him for a long time. "You're very lucky I'm preoccupied," I said eventually, in English, and closed the door.

I materialized up several set of stairs, down four hallways, and outside Harker's room. I didn't hear much in there, just rustling paper, so I let myself in. It is _my_ house, and he is _my_ guest, after all. Anyway, Harker was lying on his bed, feet up, reading the _Law List_. Again. My God, what the hell is wrong with this man?

I took the chair next to the bed and held up the two envelopes. "The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of course, take care."

Harker's face lost all of its color immediately, becoming the white-gray color of clouds, and his eyes widened to where they nearly swallowed his entire face. It wasn't a good look for him. "See, one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins." I nodded and pulled over the next one and looked at those damned scribbles. "The other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not signed. Well! So it cannot matter to us."

There was a lamp on his end table; I set down Mr. Hawkins' letter, reached over and held Mina's in it while it browned, blackened, and curled up into nothing. It was really quite satisfying, although Harker seemed otherwise. He appeared to be shaking.

I picked Hawkins' letter back up and handed it to Harker. He stared down at the trembling paper with a look of acute misery. "The letter to Hawkins, that I shall, of course, send on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?" I pulled another envelope out of my pocket and handed it to him.

Dully, he took the envelope and resealed it.

Smiling, I backed out of the room, locked the door, and got the hell away from Harker, the Law-List-obsessed weirdo.

Once again, Harker and I went back to ignoring each other. I felt that was a good system and that until I let the Brides have him, we were in each other's presence for legal matters and legal matters _only_. He appeared to be on-board with that plan; his basic human instinct to survive would not allow him to be in the same room with me unless it was absolutely necessary. This is much preferable. But fear breeds recklessness and desperation, as evidenced by Harker attempting to get his letters posted. I supposed if I left him in this sort of state too long, he'd eventually make a break for it. The Brides would get extremely pissed and . . . well, I like to avoid that. It's not a safe state.

After I had this epiphany, I "borrowed" Harker's bag and removed his papers from it. Not legal papers, things he might use to travel. If I'd known then he'd been keeping a diary, I would have stolen that too.

After this, we ignored each other entirely. He did not bring up the subject of his missing papers, although this may have been that he had no opportunity for it. I cooked him meals, but I left him alone to eat them, God forbid I had to keep listening to him rambling; I got the one Englishmen who made his country's history sound boring. Instead, I focused my attentions on moving.

As I'm sure you have noticed, I sleep in coffins. If I'm not in Transylvania at that exact moment, my coffins must have Transylvanian soil in it, an annoyingly unusual rule. I could have gotten the "must be in a place with oxygen" that everyone else got, but _noooo_. Fifty boxes were coming along with me to England- that seemed like enough to get along with until I could return for more. To get these to the _Czar Catherina_ (Kat found the boat's name a source of endless glee) I had enlisted the gypsies (I have changed my mind, I _do_ like their sense of timing.)

So when I wasn't arguing with the gypsies ("No, you do _not_ get to borrow Kat when you move all fifty coffins! Stop asking, damn you!") there were the Brides. Ava and Elizabeth were more than willing to sit against the wall and let me handle my affairs, but Katherina, of course, was not. This was evidenced on June 24th when I took a book from the library and took a seat on the couch in the balcony- yes, the one where Harker nearly lost his life- and was just lying down to read for a while when Blondie Dearest misted in and decided she wanted some attention.

"I'm hungry."

I put the book down and laid one arm across my face. "Oh, Katherina, not now, _please_. I just wanted to read for a bit."

She started drumming rhythmically on my shoulder and humming; I groaned. Kat is always well prepared to go on and on with her annoying habits. When Ava joined the family she went on a weeklong tantrum, although that wasn't so much "annoying" as it was "destructive." But you get the idea. "I'm hungry, Ava and Elizabeth are hungry, and the _last_ time you left us hungry I got thrown against a wall. Come on, get up, I'm starving."

"Katherina, _please_ . . ."

"_And_," Kat kept on. She was kneeling next to the couch- oddly the same way she was when Harker was preparing to, quite literally, bite the dust- and for the first time I noticed she had a bundle of clothing in her lap, along with the sack I usually brought back food in. "I, um, _borrowed_ some of Harker's clothes, nobody will be able to tell it's you and not your guest and you can do whatever, even bring back, like, an adult."

"Yes, but that would require getting off the couch, and I'm afraid that won't be happening tonight."

Katherina interlocked her fingers, placed her chin on them, and just looked at me with her head titled very slightly to the right. I both hated and loved when she did that, because I usually ended up giving in. "_Plleeeaaaassssseeeeee?_"

"Give me the damn clothes." She did, smirking at her latest victory. "You're very manipulative, Kat, it's rather unbecoming of you."

"Yeah, well."

I tried on Harker' weeds. Do you recall when I said he was nearly my height? Apparently not. Wearing his clothing was like wearing woven death, not to mention somewhat- alright, _extremely_- creepy. It was not, needless to say, an experience I'd like to replicate.

"That's a good look for you," Katherina said, and burst out laughing.

I grabbed the bag. "Oh, by the way, the gypsies now think you're some sort of live-in whore. I got four people asking me, 'Where's Kat?' today, and I found three trying to break into the castle. Eat one of _them_, would you?" I climbed halfway over the ledge. "You'd damn well better thank me for this."

"I'll pass."

I returned several hours later and all three Brides were in the room this time, chatting in low voices. I held out the bag; the six red eyes fixated on it grew brighter, as though a candle flickered in their ruby irises. Guess-who snatched it first, and when she brought the child into open air it let out a fierce cry, louder than I thought was possible for an infant. Kat started and clapped a hand over its mouth; all three of them froze for a moment.

"You're paranoid," I hissed. "Who could have heard that? _Harker?_"

"Well, _yes_," Ava retorted defensively, crossing her arms in an _x_ over her chest.

I shrugged. "He's more or less used to hearing bizarre noises by now, I'd expect."

Kat looked down at the baby, clearly hungry- but before her retractile fangs pulled out, she froze like a dog scenting prey. The next second she shoved the child into _my_ arms and said, "Here, take it," and went for the window.

"_What_? No, you wanted it, you made me get off the couch to get this thing, _you're eating it_."

"_Shh!_" Katherina snapped, but she pointed down in the courtyard. A peasant was running toward the castle- a woman, short and strongly built. She ran into the door and pounded on it rhythmically, gasping for breath. Her graying hair had leaves and sticks in it, the knees of her dress were dirt-stained, her face streaming with tears.

"_Monster_!" Her words came out as a distorted, piercing scream. Elizabeth's hands went up to cover her ears. "_Give me my child!_"

"Oh, so this one gets its voice from its _mother_," Katherina said in an Oh-I-understand-everything-_now_ tone. Below the woman was throwing a tantrum. "Out of curiosity, where did you find this thing?"

"The infant? Not very far, the lady- woman- could have run from there if she was particularly endurable."

Kat elbowed me out of the way and leaned over the window's edge; "_Wolves_," she rasped in whisper-scream, "_Wolves, we need you_-" I had a bizarre urge to push her out, but I feared for my safety should that happen.

There was a single howl at first that cut through the night as sharp and as clearly as a knife through butter, although truthfully the last time I used either of those things for their intended purpose was five centuries ago. Another howl, and another, from all corners of the horizon, but growing closer all the time.

A huge pack of them came loping out of the woods, gold eyes gleaming in predatory delight, long muzzles smiling. The woman opened her mouth to speak or shriek; the silver wolf in front snarled, the whole pack dived forward at once, and there was no scream. There was a long, dark silence on our end.

"That wasn't unnecessarily violent," Ava said, sounding a little sick.

"Don't worry, Kat doesn't get to be in charge of the wolves anymore," I told her. The wolves were filtering back individually into the trees now, where even our accomplished eyes would be tasked picking them out.

Katherina ignored me except to take the child back out of my arms. She wrapped her arms around it and bent her head until I couldn't see the infant at all . . . but I could see the blood start dripping down her dress and onto the floor. If I hadn't eaten while I was out, I would have frenzied, thankfully.

I checked the sky. "You three should probably hasten to a darker room. I'm going to bed- if you need me I'll be in one of the wooden coffins in the backyard."

"Why's that?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'm trying to get accustomed to a smaller casket before I go to England. If I could bring the marble coffin on the boat I would, but unfortunately that's out of the question." I started misting away slowly. "Good day."


	14. In Which Harker Gains a Phobia

Here's a tip for any and all other vampires: if you are lucky enough to have a comfortable, roomy, marble coffin, don't use a small, rickety, wooden one instead. For several days I slept in the "travel" caskets and had to fend off claustrophobia attacks. These things are just plain tight and uncomfortable.

The 29th of June, the day before my lovely guest "left," I woke up, stretched, and went back upstairs into the castle. I found him in . . . wait for it . . . wait for it . . . the _library_, asleep on the couch with a book- thank God not the _Law List_ again- open on his chest. The Brides had learned their lesson, and stayed far away. I shook him awake.

"Ah . . . wah?" Harker slowly pulled out of sleep and sat up. "Hmm-" and then he seemed to wake up more fully. "_Oh! Count!_"

I nodded and studied him seriously. Harker looked a great deal different from when he arrived: his hair was now threaded through with silver, there were smoky shadows under his newly bloodshot eyes, and he no longer appeared so youthful as he had when he had come. "Tomorrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been dispatched. Tomorrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szgany, who have some labors of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula."

Harker most certainly looked all the way awake now. He stared at me for several minutes and finally asked bluntly, "Why may I not go tonight?"

Well, at least he didn't beat around the bush now. That was improvement. I stood up, lifting the lamp off the end table, and walked to the door; Harker was a half step behind. "You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit is that which rules our boyars, Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.' Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house against your will, though sad am I at your going, and that you so suddenly desire it. Come!" He followed me downstairs to the door, where I paused. "Hark!"

I heard howling from very far away again, and very soon after, howling from very close. So close it could have easily been right on the other side of the door. I started pulling back locks and chains; the nearby yowls grew louder and more aggravated. The door opened a little more- the animals on the other side whined and pressed their faces against the widening opening. I listened to the barks and snarls of anticipation with a sense of peace.

"_Shut the door!_" Harker shrieked in a high voice, and put his face in his hands, the universal gesture of defeats. "I shall wait till morning."

I slammed the door shut. The waiting wolves wailed and cried and growled at their lost meal, but that soon faded. Harker and I returned to the library, from where he excused himself and went to bed. After he closed the door, I went up to lock it. Katherina misted out of thin air, quickly followed by her sisters.

"_Is he done yet? Are you done yet?_" she whispered.

I looked at the three. "Soon, soon, I told you you'd have him, didn't I? Now go back." They didn't move an inch, only glowered at me as if I was cheating them out of their kill. "Back to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have patience! Tonight is mine, tomorrow night is yours." Kat giggled, at what I have no idea.

The door banged open and I vanished on reflex. My Brides froze like deer in the headlights; Katherina and Harker locked eyes, and she laughed again, grabbed her sisters' arms, and the trio disappeared. My guest stood trembling for a moment, and then the door fell back into its place. I took this opportunity to lock it and go back downstairs for some rest.


	15. In Which Katherina Has Fun

"Master?"

I woke up slowly. My head hurt like hell; every motion, every word the person outside my casket spoke, and so far every thought felt like I was setting a limb on fire.

"Master?" the voice repeated. It was Ava; I clumsily opened the lid for her. She looked same as always- for some reason I had not expected that. Oh, what is _wrong_ with-

Ava's blood-colored eyes widened beyond belief and one long, pale hand went to her forehead. Her jaw dropped in a caricature of surprise. "Oh my God, what happened to your _head_?"

I mimicked her movement- there was a long, sticky dent on the right side of my forehead and when I took my hand away the tips of my fingers had burgundy, rusty-smelling blood on the pads. I looked back at Ava, but her gaze had dropped to the floor. More specifically, her gaze dropped to the shovel lying half-hazardly on the ground (where I know _I_ didn't put it) with its blade caked in dried blood.

"Oh," she said softly. "I guess I know."

"Harker," I snarled. "Please tell me you three haven't killed him yet. I was _so_ looking forward to seeing it."

"Um," Ava said and her manner changed suddenly. She looked almost apologetic. "Well, no, he's still alive, I just . . . I think maybe there's something you should see." My heart sunk; Ava took my wrist and pulled me up the many sets of stairs (why does this house have so many damned stairs?!) to his room.

Katherina and Elizabeth were already there, but I only saw Kat. Her normally pristine blonde hair was messy- I think I like it better that way, actually- and she sported a dark red scrape along one cheekbone. What it was about her that really held my attention was, however, the blood. What I could see of Katherina was bloody: the front of her dress, her palms, the tips of her hair, it was all red. I just stopped walking and stared at her. "What did you _do_?"

"Um," Ava said. "Well, Kat kind of . . . jumped the gun, and-"

"He has a _stake!_" Katherina yowled. She sounded like a cat whose tail has been stepped on. "He- he broke the bed post and he sharpened it and when I came in he _threw_ it at me! And then- then I kicked it away and he threw his diary at me and got his stake back at me and he got me on the arm and I came back out here!" She stood there, panting; her whole manner reminded me of a little girl who was lapped in a storm of her own fury. "_Please_ let _me_ kill him. Please!"

"Share with your sisters."

"They can share the next one if I get him to myself, _please?_"

"Katherina," Ava said wearily. "I'm not going to fight you for him."

Kat looked at Elizabeth docilely. It was such a change from the ordinary that I wondered if getting hit in the head with a shovel had given me brain damage.

"Sure," Lizzie said brightly.

Kat let out a squeal of joy and hugged Lizzie tightly- Elizabeth, never one to hold a grudge, hugged her back. After, Kat turned back towards the door, rubbing her palms together. She had the most evil smile on her face.

I took steps to the door and grabbed the doorknob. "Come here- one, two, three!"

I swung the door open, and sure enough, Kat was right. He did have a stake. One bedpost with a pointed, stabby end was clutched in his fist. This he hurled at me; I ducked and the stake went into the tapestry behind me, and I stepped forward into the room. My Brides followed and efficiently blocked the doorway, smiling. Harker fell back on his haunches and stared at us four with a doomed look.

"Mr. Harker," I said, and yes I was basking in my triumph. At last, at long, long last, I was turning him over to the mercy of the Weird Sisters, and they would not prove to be merciful much at all. "Please, pardon my inconsideracy. These are my Brides- Katherina is the one in red, Ava has the bun and earrings, and Elizabeth is the youngest-looking."

"We've met," Harker said coldly. Kat opened her mouth and hissed like a cat, revealing long, snakelike fangs.

"I know. I think she shares your feelings, no?" I tried to swallow my smile. It was difficult. "And I'm terribly sorry for what they're about to do." I paused. "Well, actually, no, I'm not."

On cue, Kat lunged forward like a cat on a mouse; Harker tried to scoot around her path and head for the door. Her long, porcelain hands found his wrists and yanked; he, the broad-shouldered man, tumbled into her, the girl who weighed 115 pounds, chest and crumpled there. Kat bent his arms back in a way that looked exceedingly painful, then secured both his hands with one of hers, and cupping the other under his chin.

"Finally," she purred, sweeping some of his dark hair off his forehead in an out-of-place maternal gesture, and sunk her teeth into his shoulder. All I could see of Kat was a long mess of blonde hair . . . and blood on the floor.

Harker shrieked hoarsely and flailed. One arm got free and he did the last thing I would have thought for him to do with it: throw a punch. His fist landed squarely on Katherina's chest. I had to give him credit for that. I mean, she may be a vampire Bride, four hundred years and still kicking, but she is still a woman and shaped like one.

For one second Kat let him go and in that one second Harker was up and out the door. If Ava and Elizabeth had had it in their minds to join in he wouldn't have made it two steps, but they had wisely chosen to honor their promises (the alternative being to catch hell from Katherina later). Kat recovered quickly, regained her footing, and shot out after him, quickly enough to be a blur even to _my_ eyes. Ava, Elizabeth and I tore out after them.

Katherina caught up to him again and held him down on the floor, and this time her fangs pierced his throat instead. He yowled in pain and fear; she released him once more. I knew where this was going- a psychotic game of Cat and Mouse- Ava did too, apparently, because she flinched.

Harker wobbled to his feet. He could hardly stand straight, was streaming blood was a myriad of cuts. Death had him in a loose but ever-tightening grip and he knew it; I could see it in his desperate eyes. This may have been what prompted him to do what he did next.

He ran.

Harker took four steps toward the opposite wall- _Oh hell no, he's going for the window!_- and one knee collapsed. He hit the floor with a jarring thunk and a yelp of pain; Katherina laughed. She traipsed into view and as I watched she changed lupinely for the worse- her face elongated and showed off her sharp teeth, her skin paled and the outline of fur stood out on it. The beautiful eyes hardened. She barked-snarled once, bared long white rows of teeth.

Harker lunged for the window and she jumped after him, but he was too close to the window, and she had no viable way to hold him back. I cut her off, she bit me on the ankle- this did, in fact, lead to quite a bit of swearing on my part- and he leaped. I grabbed him by the collar, but by this time he was dangling out a window of a castle five stories above stone ground. He started twisting, trying to get me to drop him and let him die easy; behind me Katherina was making noises akin to rumbling thunder.

"LET ME GO!"

"GODDAMNIT KATHERINA GET OFF _NOW!_"

I pulled my Harker-bearing arm up too hastily. The top of his head smashed into the underside of the window sill with a noise like stone smashing into stone and he abruptly stopped writhing.

I hauled him up into the room; he was alive and unconscious, but I have never seen anyone look so dead. A steady stream of red-black blood streamed out from under his hairline. Katherina morphed back into a person and stared down at him wide-eyed, sunken-cheeked. Her skin lost what little color it had.

"Well, Kat," Ava said uneasily after a long silence. "If you're, um, hungry . . ."

"No," Katherina hissed. I stared at her. "We wait. He waits."

"Until what?"

"Until he's _awake_!" Kat shouted. Ava and Elizabeth started and moved back. While I wished I could move away and avoid her wrath, I knew where she was coming from. Katherina is incredibly prideful and her prey had almost escaped; she was determined to make him pay in blood for trying to take himself away from her. Her logic was frightening. "He dies when he can stand up and he can _fight_, do you _understand_?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just whirled around and stomped off.

"Okay," Ava said under her breath. "So we wait." 


	16. In Which Harker Shows Some Grit

I had to put Harker back in his room after that, where he stayed for some time. He didn't die at any point- his hear beat and his lungs breathed but even after Ava carefully cleaned the blood off him- it was driving all four of us almost crazy with thirst sometimes, eventually to the point where we had to run when we passed his room- he looked like he was clinging to life with the most fragile of grips.

And that would bad news to us all. Since Katherina had been cheated out of her kill, her moods had all abruptly darkened. She abruptly stopped talking. That seems like it would be a relief, considering I'd spent so much time wishing she'd be quiet for ten minutes, but it was downright unsettling. She was brooding over some bizarre and probably dangerous little plot, and trying to figure out what it was started making me paranoid.

That also did not bode well.

So my last month or so in the castle was impossibly long and spent mostly on needles. Eventually, though, I got packed and finished all the necessary transactions ("Look, just _move_ the _boxes!_ You don't get paid until you _move the damn boxes!_ Is this really _that_ hard?").

I was more or less sitting around the night before I left. Not reading, not talking with Ava and Elizabeth, not eying Katherina, just sitting there staring at the wall and dreading what was going to happen here if Harker died after I left and before he woke up. I wasn't going to have an Ava or Elizabeth anymore.

So, anyway, I was staring at the wall- blank stone- and I heard this kind of strangled scream from upstairs- my first thought was _Harker woke up and I'm _missing_ it!_ But the shriek evened out into an obviously feminine voice.

I shot off the couch and out the door; Ava was similarly coming up the stairs at the end of the hallway half-dragging a stumbling Elizabeth. When she saw me her lovely face twisted into a grimace and pressed her free hand against one ear. "What's going on?" she yelled- I think. I couldn't hear much over Katherina's grating screeching upstairs.

I grabbed Ava's wrist, the one on her ear, and we went in a demented line up the stairs and knocked open Harker's door. Kat had her back to the door, facing the bed. And she was still going on. The shriek ebbed and flowed- some time after this I heard an air raid siren and it reminded me of her.

"_STOP THAT INFERNAL SCREAMING!_"

She turned around. Remember when she was about to take a chunk out of Harker and how horrible she'd looked then? This was worse, if possible. Katherina looked like she was either rabid or starving to death. Instinctively, I took three steps backward, making Ava stumble from her perch of trying to look over my shoulder, and Elizabeth tripped.

"H-he's _g-gon-ne_," she snarled, and her hand rose and pointed to the window. My eyes followed it down. There was a rope of bedsheets tied to the bedpost and leading out over the sill. Ava made a disbelieving noise behind me.

"You have to be kidding. He was in a coma! How could he just get up and walk out?!"

"Look. Out. The. Window." Oh God, she was separating each word into a sentence. This was bad. Nevertheless I walked up and looked out- through the dark dense forests I could indeed see a small rustle in the trees fleeing from Castle Dracula. What held my attention, however, was the slow, glowing wave of what looked like the whole damn village coming. With torches. The wolves skirted wide around them.

"Oh my God," Ava said. "What is that? All of Buda Pest?"

I wanted to be angry. I really did. But there was something about surviving going head-to-head with Kat, coming out breathing, going into a coma, recovering, and still having enough wits about you to escape. I was surprised and slightly (_slightly_!) awed, against my better nature. Perhaps I had underestimated Harker? Not likely but . . . a possibility.

Katherina observed the impressed look flit across my face with a sour glare. "So?" she said in a sulky voice, clearly disappointed that I hadn't flown into a demon of rage like she'd expected- wanted- me to. "What do we do now?"

"About the crowd?" I grinned and paused momentarily to enjoy that reckless fizz of adrenaline. This, this was my _game_. I could not only play, I could win. It occurred to me that my visit to London would be pretty much this scenario, just on a bigger and more muted scale. "Let them come. This castle can take the wrath of a few villagers, can't it?"

She came out with a phrase that was not entirely unprofane that questioned not only my masculinity but that of my ancestors, and- an added bonus!- also tacked on a derogatory statement about Ava and Elizabeth.

"Don't talk about my mother that way," Elizabeth retorted.

Katherina ignored her. "And as for Harker? What will become of him?"

My grin widened. Ava and Elizabeth exchanged an uneasy glance. "As for Harker? _Sie kennen die dorfbewohner_, my darling, and I am sure you know as well as anyone that the superstitious folk do not forgive easily. Even if he goes to the villagers and pleads his innocence before God, will they not hold some doubts against him? How will they know for sure that he is not tainted by the vampire scrooge? It is their best interest to leave him to fend for himself, and they will come to that conclusion quickly enough. And once they decide to leave him be, he will be at the mercy of the wolves and the elements and these, I'm sure, will not hold much empathy for him at all. You will find, Katherina, which you do not need to kill him yourself, as the wild will do it for you. I promise you, it will be just as satisfying."

Katherina sighed.

I wrapped one hand around her forearm. "I know, you were looking forward to it. I'm sure you'll get to kill lots of defenseless humans while I'm gone, darling, don't despair."

"Oh, that's right." She looked marginally more cheerful. I choked down some laughter and took her forearm.

"Come along away from the window. I don't particularly want to spend my last hours in the castle watch you watch a forest."

Kat raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to what?"

"You, Katherina, are a disgusting pervert. While you're here . . . being perverted . . . I have to go to bed. To coffin."

"You're the one with three Brides."

"And you're still the pervert of the family, Kat. Does that say something to you? It does to me. Good night."


	17. In Which Parting is NOT Sweet Sorrow

I awoke the next day in a custom that is entirely not my own- that is to say, with the sun. I let Katherina wake up her sisters and I got dressed, made sure every last detail was taken care of- the obsessive need to check on every aspect of this trip was rather tiring- got my bag together, checked every detail again (for the millionth time) and when I was absolutely, positively sure that _nothing_ was out of place, I collected the Brides.

I caught Ava and Elizabeth coming out of the library- methinks I need to expand it, considering how much attention it's been getting recently. For Ava I wasn't particularly surprised, since she lives and breathes books, but Elizabeth . . . not so much. They had three leather-bound volumes between them, which they hid when they saw me coming.

" . . . What are you doing with those?"

"Nuh-thing," Elizabeth said. I should probably mention Lizzie is a terrible liar.

"Liz, show me."

"Master, don't," Ava said, and the steely note in her tone made me heed. "Please don't."

I sighed. "Very well then. Do either of you know where Kat is?"

"_Are you three ready to GO yet?!_" Katherina yelled from downstairs.

"Never mind."

After this- and a brief argument, although truthfully I've forgotten what it was about- we went out a window and through the air. The commute was to the Dunare River, which wasn't really that far as the crow flies. Or the bat. And besides, we're no _ordinary_ bats. We're Super Bats, as Elizabeth cheerfully blurted out in the middle of a long silence.

I'm telling you, this girl is great. I should bring her to parties.

So, anyway, we reached the _Czarina_ _Catherine_ very early for us, maybe nine in the morning. The docks were packed full with villagers and sailors alike loading and unloading, buying and selling, trading. The way they moved reminded me of bees in a hive or ants in a mound. It struck me as kind of pathetic.

The _Czarina Catherine_ was the closest ship to where my Brides and I came in. First thing I noticed about it was that it looked like one good wave and the thing was just going to disintegrate. The belly of the caravel- clearly this was an _old_ ship, at least three hundred years old- was weather-worn and splintering. The name of the boat was scrawled on the side in loopy, childish red letters. One mast was sporting a jagged tear. The left half of the face of the mermaid on the ship's front was gone from running into something. There was one exquisitely lovely eye, half a nose and a pair of lips, and a gaping hole where their counterparts should be.

"Good lord," Katherina commented, wrinkling her nose. "Is _that_ what you're sailing?"

"Go to hell, Kat."

I took steps up the ramp and the Brides aligned themselves according to age/hierarchy- was this a conscious decision? Interesting- and floated along in my wake. I was met halfway up by a sailor, I assumed. His skin paralleled the coarse, tan, dirty garment he had on.

"You can't come up here," he said, and then as an afterthought, "Sir."

"I happen to be traveling on this particular ship." When I get annoyed I tend start with the phrases like "happen to be" and "particularly." Katherina just lives to mock me for it; after this I usually call her a whore, and she comes out with something much more creative, and it goes a bit downhill from there.

"Nobody's coming on this ship. You must be mistaken. Sir."

"This is the _Czarina Catherine_? . . . It is? And it is traveling to Whitby Bay, England? . . . I see. Then no, I am not mistaken."

"I'm not going to argue with you."

"That, my friend, is where you are incorrect. What we are doing now is arguing, in the technical sense of the word. Kindly step aside and let me through."

In response, he turned on his heel, went back on board and quickly and skillfully slithered down into the belly of the ship. I raised one foot to step forward and drag him back and _make_ him admit that this my ship, but Ava's hands gripped the front of my shirt and yanked me around to face her. I staggered off balance and recovered myself two inches from her face.

"You are _not_ going to make a scene, goddamnit," she hissed, unmoving. "You are going to wait like an adult does and you are not going to throw a fit like a little boy."

"I was not going to throw a fit," I snapped, miffed.

"Uh-huh. Sure you weren't."

I sulked over to the nearest sittable object. Katherina was clearly trying to hide a smirk; Elizabeth, her perpendicular, looked from Ava to me with distressed eyes. I was just thinking how much her face revealed of her thoughts when she burst out "Do you want to see your presents?"

"What?"

Ava shot her a thanks-a-lot look and said to me, "It's not really presents . . . just things to remember us by. They're all Shakespeare. This one's from me."

"That was my idea!" Elizabeth crowed.

I looked at the volume- it was _Romeo and Juliet_. Ava is absolutely insane about that play. She's got a romantic view of suicide I don't particularly share- no, it isn't ironic, shut the hell up- and must have read it hundreds of times.

"You gave me _this_? You _must _want to be remembered, giving it up like this."

Elizabeth grabbed the two remaining books and stuffed one in my hands. "And this one's Kat's!"

"_Taming of the Shrew_." I smiled. "Appropriate."

"You whores," Katherina snapped.

"And this one is from Lizzie, I assume?" I looked at it. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. I wondered how she'd picked a play out, considering she'd never read one in all of her time on this earth.

Ava apparently sensed this. "I picked all of them out, but Elizabeth figured that since you like plays so much that's what we should give you."

"Ah." To my left the gritty-looking sailor got off the boat. I waited until he was out of sight before adding, "I suppose I should get on the boat now."

"I guess so," Ava said. She looked at me sadly. "I'll miss you."

"I will too, my darling." I gave her hug and a kiss, then Elizabeth. Katherina balked when I went to her; I took an awkward step back and away. "I will miss all of you, and when I'm a little more . . . stable . . . you can all come over to England."

"I can't wait," said Elizabeth brightly. Her oblivion is cute sometimes.

I hugged Ava and Lizzie again, and I went up the ramp, and I said my silent good-byes to my Brides, my homeland, and my entire lifestyle.

Whitby or bust.


	18. In Which I Worry Sailors

"Mates! Lookit this!"

I opened my eyes- through the lines on the coffin door I was lying I could see faint, sickly light, almost like a candle. The dirt under me felt annoyingly hot and stiff. I shifted on it.

There was a reply from someone else- they both had the bouncy quality I'd come to associate with England, but the words were slurred. I was struck by the sharp smell of gin, and wrinkled my nose. "It's a coffin!"

Righto, mates. Now that you've deduced the most obvious, how 'bout we pop upstairs for a bit and have some tea and skippers?

There was a slight tap on the side of the coffin, then a much harder one. It produced a dull _thud_- I flinched. Raucous laughter ensued, followed by another _thud_, even louder. I was starting to get a little worried that they were going to kick in the side of the casket.

"Why the hell are there coffins on board?"

"Dunno, bab. Some bloke's paying good money to bring 'em to England."

Inside my casket, I listened to their inebriated revelries, smelled their gin, and smiled inauspiciously. My fun would start when theirs ended, and that would happen soon enough.

It did, eventually. After maybe an hour, kicking unresponsive, inanimate objects apparently lost its touch, and they found other amusements. But the smell of alcohol- after they finished the gin, they moved on to rum- didn't fade, even after the men themselves had left. I listened to their footsteps go up the ladder and down the deck.

I pushed open the coffin lid slowly, ready to bang it back down and play dead if need be, but the mates were gone. I slithered up the main hatchway as slow and quietly as it is earthy possible to "slither," but my caution was in vain. The deck was empty. Sailors must have gone to bed.

I breathed in deeply. The air out here was sharper, somehow, and while it was damper, it lacked the ever-present smell of mold and lichen. The change was rather off-setting, and I wasn't sure whether I preferred this air or the castle's.

I floated over to the right- forgive me, _starboard_- side of the boat and admired the view. It was truly splendid; the bright white moon was hovering barely an inch above the horizon, casting rippling lines of moonlight onto the indigo waters. Fog between it and myself partially obscured its light, but not enough.

While I was meditating on these things, a sudden twinge of hunger traveled from my stomach to my finger tips. I started, and it pricked at the insides of my veins again. I touched one hand to my lips and considered my options. Option one- bilge rats. Hmm . . . that's best for last resorts. Option two-

I smelled him before I heard him. A sharp, stabbing smell, the kind that feels like it's probably giving you brain damage, preceded him. I had just smelled it moments before. I knew what it was.

Gin.

Then the sound followed. A drunken rendition of "Pirate's Life for Me" and heavy footfalls echoed down the damp deck and parted the nighttime mist. I froze, waited, watched.

He emerged through the mist, stumbling- an unshaven, inebriated bow-legged sailor. He walked within five feet of me before his bleary, bloodshot eyes rolled in my direction. "Hey!" He had a slobbery-sounding voice. It grated my eardrums and made my fangs itch at their roots. Still, I said nothing, but one foot moved very, very slightly forward. "Who in the _hell_ are you?"

"My dear sir, I am your worst nightmare." Alright, I admit it, it's not exactly tactful, but I was sick of discretion. Now was my chance to have some fun via scaring mortals.

His eyes narrowed. "Tell me or face some serious . . . ah . . . conseh . . . conser . . . consay- concertquinches."

I laughed. "I think 'consequences' is the word you're looking for."

"Yes, that."

I took another step forward. The Prey was too drunk to yield his ground, even if he was getting warning signs. He braced himself like he was leaning into a storm.

"Did I catch your name?"

"Juan."

"Hmm." One- more- step-

"Wait-" said Juan, and I was pleased to hear a definite note a panic in his voice. "Wait, what are you- ?"

Juan woke back up about forty-five minutes later, back in his quarters, with a bottle of rum. For those forty-five minutes in which he was out like a light, I was exploring the ship. There was nothing at all extraordinary about the _Czarina_ _Catherine_- no unusual history, cargo (apart from my coffins) or crew.

I was going to have fun here, I could tell.

Juan was a perfectly acceptable meal ticket for a few more days and through that time kept the news of his sleepless nights and drained, weary mornings to himself. He eventually let slip, though, on the late afternoon of July 12th, to a group of sailors who were working with him on the deck. The sun had just begun to sink below the horizon, and I was up and slinking around.

"Have any of yous been feelin' . . . funny, lately?" Juan asked the group. He had a scarf around his throat today, even though it had been 102 degrees at noon, and kept tugging on it relentlessly. The group, who must have numbered twelve or so, looked slightly confused.

"Juan, you've been downing rum like fresh water," piped up one fresh-faced boy. "That'll be the cause of your funny feelin', if anything."

"Nah," Juan insisted. He had on a felt cap today, which he then took off and began to wring in his hands. "Ever' night I go out and look around before I go to bed and then I pass out or somethin'. First night at sea I woke up on the deck an' I was bleedin' a little, and every night since then I feel all weak and dizzy in the mornin' fer hours."

"So you cut yourself on a bottle," said the youth dismissively. The rest of the group was looking at each other again, but with a worried expression this time; the boy alone seemed unconvinced. I decided I liked this kid. "And got yourself a hang-over. Sorry Juan, but cut your drinking and you'll be fine."

Juan scowled. In one motion he unwound his scarf, yanked down his collar, and tilted his head back, exposing what was unmistakably teeth marks. The gathering gasped; the boy paled. "You think _that_ came from a broken bottle, do ya?"

I was simultaneously eager and worried to see how all this would turn out, but the captain took this (most inconvenient) time to stroll around the corner, and the group dissolved away from each other. I went back below deck and mused over my findings. I supposed it wasn't safe to be biting Juan much longer. The rest of the crew would work just as fine, if need be.

I wondered if any of the crew was going to make it to Whitby Bay.

I lived with my hunger without satisfying it for the next couple days; the crew, likewise, lived with their general unease and discontent. The weather beggar to mirror their disposition. The skies turned dark and roiling, the waters choppier and more difficult to contend with. The sun became increasingly hidden by clouds, a fact that couldn't have made me happier, because I got full rein now, night and day.

So except for an hour or so around noon, when the sun would shine feebly through the clouds, I was getting zero sleep. Through daylight I skulked in dark corners, reading my plays; through night I prowled the decks. This strategy worked for me- I caught a sailor on his own in the early hours of the morning on July 16th. This one was no Juan- he put up a serious fight. I managed to bite him once on the hand, exposing bone, and he bled like hell; the scuffle climaxed in his crossing himself and throwing himself into the churning ocean. Oops . . .

The crew decided to search for me the day after his disappearance. They all scoured the below-deck area at eleven-forty-five, which just so happened to be during my nap, and pretty much scared the crap out of me when one almost opened the lid I was snoozing under. I vanished, but . . . still . . .

The day after, the rain that had been threatening was finally unleashed. My God, was it unleashed. For one second it had been warm and dry outside, and the very next it was a torrential downpour. The seas were more violent than ever; the ship tossed and spun like a child's plaything. I thought it best to lie low through this.

The rain let up briefly. I took another chance to eat. Another sailor . . . gone.

With the sun always hidden behind clouds it was becoming increasingly difficult to judge time. How long had I been on this claustrophobia-racked boat? Hours? Days? Years? My voice began to feel like it was going to fade away from disuse.

Meanwhile, another sailor disappeared without a trace. Well, actually, he did leave a few traces, like my easing hunger and the inch-long scrapes in the wood from his fingernails.

July 30th, the rain lifted, and my melodramatic mood went with it. It was replaced with a damp, cool mist. I enjoyed the fog much, much more; it had an invigorating feel that the melodramatic rain lacked. Also because blending in was much, much easier.

There were only three people aboard the ship now besides myself: _el Capitano_, the youth who had gone against Juan, and Juan himself. They wouldn't last me long, not at the pace I was moving, but I didn't mind. We were nearing England. I was almost there.

Juan didn't last long.

The youth was growing more frantic every day. He had started out, so many days ago, as cool, collected, and skeptical; he'd lost all that day by day. His eyes stood out white against the dark shadows below them, his cheekbones defined, his lips thin. He carried a knife with him now.

The captain stood up better under pressure. He was exhausted and frightened, but he held firm, telling the youth to stick together, that way the monster prowling the bowels of the ship (I smiled here) could not get them . . . no . . . they would be safe . . . God would protect them . . .

The boy snapped one day. I had begun to listen to their conversations as a matter of habit, and the one that led to his demise started as thus:

"_It_ is here. I know it now. On the watch last night, I saw _it_- like a man- tall and thin- and ghastly pale- it was in the bows and looking out. I crept up behind it and gave it my knife, but the knife went though it, empty as air." The boy was off his rocker, I mused, listening. I had never been face-to-face with him, nor, had he attempted to stab me, would the knife encounter nothing.

The captain said nothing.

The boy's tone rose to hysterics. "But it is here! And I'll find it!" He sounded close to tears. "It is in the hold, perhaps, in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see . . . you work the helm."

Footsteps headed toward the stairs.

From my usual corner, I felt my cheekbones run toward my nose like hot wax, stretching out into a long, black, sharp-toothed muzzle. My hands folded into paws- the footsteps grew closer. Fur spread over my arms.

The youth flung open the hatch and climbed down inside. His face caught mine- I raised my half-human, half-wolf head, looking at him. I must have been something monstrous to behold, something from the depths of his blackest nightmares; his pupils dilated to swallow up his irises and his face paled beyond white.

I growled.

He let loose one hell of a scream _then_, his arms flailing and knocking into a precariously stacked pile of wooden boxes (_not_ coffins) and sending them knocking to the floor. He screamed his way to the ladder, and all the way up it too.

"_Save me! SAVE ME!_ Oh, you had better come too, captain, before it is _too late!_ _He_ is there! I know the secret now! The sea will save me from him, and it is all that is left!"

Two simultaneous screams, and the longest, loudest silence I have ever heard.

I followed him up; the captain's eyes slid past me with the slightest of pauses, but I didn't mind. I figured that now, there was nothing to be frightened- no, no, no, wrong choice of words! _Wary_- of, now that there was only the captain on board. The fog had gotten so think that even _I_ could hardly see twenty or thirty feet . . . he could only judge things within arms' length.

The _Czarina_ _Catherina_ would pull into Whitby Bay in two or three day's time. I had no intention of the captain living to see solid ground again, and even though he didn't know me or my purpose of this voyage, he at least knew that.

In the evening of August 4th he wrote his final words. During this I was perched on the rail, not two yards away; leaning against the wheel with coils of rope draped across his feet, he took a scrap of paper first and noted on it feverishly; this he rolled up and placed it in his pocket. He pulled a silver crucifix with a long, plaited chain out of nowhere, wrapping it methodically around his hands so his wrists made an _x_ and the cross dangled evenly between them.

"Again, a cross," I said with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, loud enough that he could most certainly hear me. "Why so many crosses? It gets to be very redunant after a while, you know. What's the fun in going after someone if it's the same thing every time? The least you could do is mix it up a little. Do you have a Star of David?"

"Monster," the Captain said in a low monotone, picking up the rope and looping it through the wheel.

It was nice to be have a real conversation with someone who wasn't a figment of my imagination.

I hopped down off my perch and traveled in a wide circle while he lashed his hands together skillfully. "I must say . . . you're the first human who would rather die than fight or flee. I don't entirely agree with your actions. After all, you're close to England- perhaps, if you got out of the boat now, you could swim home."

"I accept this fate for two reasons, demon. For one, I am this ship's captain," he said with a touch of pride. "I must go down with it. For another, I have always told my crew that there is nothing I would tell them to do that I wouldn't do myself."

"So you're resigning yourself to certain death for no reason other than you want to be noble."

"If that's what you want to call it. I call it loyalty."

"Perhaps those aren't the _only_ reasons. Perhaps it has occurred to you that if you live, you will be blamed for the murder of an entire crew."

"That crossed my mind," he said stiffly.

"So you're saving your skin as much as dooming it."

"Not necessarily. They may consider it a homicide-suicide."

"I think _you_ think your god will save you. I don't think he will, Captain."

"That's the difference between you and I, Satan."

"That's not the only one."

He pulled on the ropes. They had been made with practiced hands and so held fast. "I don't fear you."

"No? I think you fear me a little."

"I fear God."

I made an unwilling scoff and circled closer. I could grab him now if I needed to, and he could see me clearly. His feet strained against the deck and his arms stretched to their limits as he tried to put as much distance between me and him as earthly possible. I can't say I blamed him.

I opened my mouth and hissed at him, clicked my fangs and digging my nails into the wood of the wheel hard enough to leave dents. He lurched backward again, terror etched in every line of his face, his lips compressed to keep in a scream.

His efforts were in vain.


	19. In Which I Reach Carfax

My acquisition of the boat went smoothly enough, and I sailed into port quite cheerfully.

The reason for my good humor was that there were no crowds of people who wanted to see their lovers, friends, fathers. I had been worried it would be a positive madhouse of people hurrying to see that the crew of fools who had stayed out in an impenetrable blanket of fog had come through safely.

I went back downstairs and into my corner; I curled up and became a wolf. I rather like being a wolf- much more than a bat, anyway- they have a natural dangerous dignity about them that one can only admire. Those who fear wolves- lupophobic?- would disagree, naturally, but who cares for them?

Somebody on the land set up a ladder and began to lead them and a group up to the deck- I listened to their footsteps with a strange sense of peace. I was here- it was over- soon I'd be home, ready to settle down. I hoped life would become stable here- ie: I would be able to create at least two new vampires without any uproar- so the Brides could join me. They'd like that. Ava especially, I think. Anyone who loves to learn as much as she does would enjoy traveling abroad.

"_Oh my God!_" somebody shouted. Evidently they'd found the body.

"The captain! Is he dead?"

"_Look_ at him, James, of _course_ he's dead!"

"Where's everyone else?"

"What happened to the captain? He's not bloody anywhere . . . and he can't have starved . . ."

"Why are his hands tied to the wheel? Is that a crucifix?"

"_SILENCE!_" somebody bellowed, and the babbling, frantic voices quieted. "We're wasting time. Obviously the captain is dead- how he died I don't know- but if something happened, like pirates, there might be other dead or wounded members. I want the entire crew of this ship accounted for!"

There was a scurry. A few feet tromped toward the hatch to the ship's belly. I stood back to my four feet and shook myself off. _Showtime_.

The hatch was lifted open and a couple of men dropped down, peering about dimly in the below-boat gloom. One grabbed a lantern off the edge of a coffin and lit it- the flame flashed to life, illuminating the huge, black wolf- yours truly, naturally- standing no more than thirty feet away.

"Dear God!" one of them yelled.

"_Wolf!_"

I bounded forward, toward the ladder. The pair scattered; the one with the light dropped it and the lantern went out with a _whoosh_. I jumped and for the barest second I had hands and elbows and arms with which to leap and land on the deck. But by the time I hit the hard, bright wood and saw the surprised faces of the searchers I had no hands, just paws.

"What the hell is a wolf doing here?" a pale-faced, slight man shrieked.

"James, _SHUT UP!_ Help me grab it!"

A burly man dived for me; I skirted his arms and ran for the ramp back to earth, bowling James over in the process- he bounced to the ground, holding his nose, which was gushing an unpleasant-looking liquid. I lost my balance momentarily and went into full-skid mode all the way down the ladder, and sprawled ungainfully back onto solid earth.

The second I regained my feet, I ran like hell for Carfax.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I liked this place. I really _really_ liked it.

Carfax was big and sprawling- its ceilings arched like a cathedral and it sported more than enough niches in the wall for secret passages. Turrets sprouted from the outside on all sides. The stones were cool and the inside shadowy, giving it the impression of a manmade fissure. The outside gates were easily over ten feet tall and pointed at the top. The deep garden overgrown and dark. The forest was deep and shady and an intimidating gleaming emerald.

I. Loved. This.

My only complaint was the apple tree only steps from my backdoor. It was huge and flowering and indecently _pink_ and the apples it had were too sweet. It was the only thing bright and cheerful in Carfax. And I didn't like it. It ruined the mood.

I had a very unpleasant taste in my mouth- a combination vodka and salt, ugh. Sailors are _not_ my preference- and to rid myself of it, decided to go for a walk. From my window I could see an ancient cemetery, seated on a lonely hill. The marble graves glinted like sunlight in the late, dimming evening. It had a look of long-preserved peace about it, and given my deep love for the pessimistic and the macabre, I decided to give it a look.


	20. In Which Lucy is Introduced

It took about fifteen minutes to walk from Carfax to the gravesite. The path wound around the gentle slope on its way to the top. I hurried up to the top.

The view was everything I had expected and more- a beautiful view of the sunset over the ocean and the sleepy little town spread out below- but it seemed I was not alone in wishing to contemplate it. A girl was already perched on a particularly worn little stone, her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees, staring into space.

I coughed slightly and the girl jumped a mile. She leapt to her feet, blushing furiously.

"Oh! Um, hello!"

"Hello," I said, looking at her. She was in her early twenties, maybe, and even with her cheeks burning she was still fantastically attractive. At first glance she looked like Kat- blonde, blue-eyed, pale- but her face reminded me of Elizabeth- youthful and naïve for her years. Her dress was a muted sky-blue cut to her throat and elbows- it was clearly designed to hide curves. Hers didn't do its job as well as it could have, but I didn't mind in the slightest.

"I guess I'll be going now-" she mumbled, making the motions of going to leave. I noticed she had a gleaming engagement ring on her hand.

"No, by all means, stay. I don't mean to rob you of your special spot. You picked a lovely place to unwind."

"Oh," she said, and I could tell she was flattered. "It's not mine, really, but nobody really comes to see at this time of day, and it's just really pretty, and . . ." Her voice faded. She sank slowly into a seat.

"May I ask your name?"

"Lucy . . . Lucy Westenra. You?"

"Voivode Dracula."

Lucy stared at me. "That's, um, unusual."

"I'm from Romania," I explained. "The names are different there."

She blushed again. I felt a twinge of guilt for (A) walking in on her private place and (B) making her feel like a xenophobe, but that passed. "Oh . . . I'm sorry . . . again."

"Not a problem. Do you live around here?"

Lucy pointed to a sensible white house a half a mile or so away. "Over there . . . my friend Mina is staying with me for a while, until her fiancé gets back."

Mina. _Mina_. The name pricked at me. Where had I heard that before? _Mina_ . . . "Where did her fiancé go?"

"He went east somewhere. A third-world place, he said." Lucy shook her head, as if to say, _Third world! What a shame Mina's husband-to-be had to spend his time THERE! _"Someone was buying property and they needed a lawyer."

Something clicked. "He wasn't going to _Romania_, was he?"

"Why yes, he was! How did you know?" I said nothing. Lucy seemed to realize all at once. "_Oh!_ I'm terribly sorry- that's just what he said! I apologize, really." I still said nothing; I was thinking. She evidently took this to mean I had not forgiven her. "So . . . um . . . did you, uh, meet him?"

"Jonathan Harker, was his name? Yes . . . he stayed at the same inn I was at."

"Oh. Wow. Small world, then, huh?" She froze. "I'm turning into my mother. That's her favorite phrase."

"I don't mind. Conventional wisdom is often the best."

"Did Jonathan tell you when he was going to get back, by any chance? Mina's getting worried."

"No, unfortunately. He had . . . other . . . business . . . to attend to. My apologies." 

"Well, I suppose that's hardly your fault, is it? Mina will be pleased to know he's well." Lucy stood up. "I'm sorry, it's been very interesting talking to you, but it's getting late- I should go." She brushed her hair off her shoulders and walked- very slowly- towards the path again. I stood up after her and watched her go.

With Lucy gone, I had to admit there was little to hold me here. What else was there, the freaking _sea?_ Hadn't seen _that_ much. I rather felt the best scenery I'd seen in a while had just gone down that ramp.

Damn.

I went slowly back home. From what I could see, Whitby was a quaint place- the women dressed modestly, the men were decked out in hats and coattails, and the shore itself was polite enough to be quiet and not disturb the peace. Like I said, sleepy. And I was thankful for that. Sleepy places are easier to conquer, since the people are more worried about gossip and scandal than bodily harm.

I went back on my way, but not to Carfax. Darkness had fallen . . . I had full rein over this little place. Fun. Fun fun fun. And what to do with my new-found freedom? Explore, of course. I realized fully in that one second that I was off the boat . . . secrecy didn't really matter anymore. These were proper_ ladies_ and _gentlemen_, not spooky Transylvanian peasants.

I broke into a run.

It felt _awesome_.


	21. In Which 'Apple' Has Two Meanings

I woke up to church bells and someone playing with the knocker on the front door. Whoever built Carfax was evidently worried that someone would not hear waiting guests, because that knocker was _loud_ as _hell_. And the church bells didn't help any. They had a deep, judgmental sound to them, not clear and sweet like _real_ bells.

"I'm _coming!_ Stop playing with the freakin' knocker!"

I tripped out of the coffin I was sleeping in and had to hopscotch over forty-nine others, some open, some closed, while still half-asleep. I think it goes without saying that the act was deeply graceless. However, I managed to get over most of them without doing a face-plant, and I think that was very impressive.

I had thankfully had the foresight to put the caskets in a second (albeit smaller) room on the sides of Carfax's impressive entryway, in case the person at the front door (it was starting to dawn on me that I didn't really know anyone here) wanted to come in. The door was heavy. I shouldered it open.

"Good morning!" chirped Lucy Westenra. It was an actual chirp, too. I am not making that up.

I blinked and sort of looked at her for a few minutes. I was still three-quarters of the way asleep, my shirt was all twisted around, my mouth tasted funny, and it was too bright outside. ". . . Hello."

If Lucy had been shy last night, she was all smiles today. "I didn't get a chance to welcome you properly-" _Oh dear, Lucy, what would your fiancé say?_- "I thought I'd bring something over today. You like cake, right?"

"Uh, sure." She stuffed something into my hands. I held it, feeling a little dazed.

"How are you settling in?" Dear Lord, she wanted to make conversation. I just wanted to crawl back into my coffin and sleep. It must have been something like eleven in the morning. This was seven or so hours of calm, blissful sleep I was getting cheated out of. I swallowed.

"I only got here last evening, and I've been catching up on my rest."

"Oh. Well, don't sleep the day away! You already missed the Sunday morning service."

That explained the church bells. "I do not attend services. I prefer to talk to God on my own time."

She looked politely surprised. I guess not going to church is something of a scandal here. I hope they don't burn me on a pike. "I suppose that's one way to go about it, but honestly, the services are very uplifting. You should go. I'll come with you."

"I prefer nighttime, thank you." Please, _please_ don't let her offer to come with me at night. _Please_. 

"Well, okay, if that's what suits you. You know, that cake's getting cold."

"Huh?" I looked down. "Oh, yes, that. Thank you. It looks good." I was lying through my teeth here, in case you can't tell.

"It's best with strawberry preserves on it. You don't have those, I assume?"

"I just got here yesterday." Not that I have preserves on hand the rest of the time, either. God, she's so _perky_. "I have an apple tree out back, though, if that is of any use to you."

Lucy nodded enthusiastically. "Apple slices would go with it well. Can I cut some up?"

I was waking up. When they say opportunity knocks, they must mean it. "By all means. Stay and enjoy some of this, uh, shortcake if you'd like." 

"I would! Thank you!"

She stepped over the threshold and into the house, looking around. I stepped fluidly between her and the door and walked toward her; Lucy went absently away in the same direction. I fought the urge to purr.

"You like big and dark, huh?"

"I like history, and this house has a lot of it. I believe it was built in the Middle Ages. Just think, these stones carry more history than, I daresay, most families here."

"Probably," Lucy agreed. "It's an awfully big place for one person. You aren't going to live here alone, are you?" Apparently, I just oozed _scandal_- didn't go to church, lived alone in a big house.

"Perhaps. It depends on how well I get along here."

"You're not going to stay?"

"I didn't say that, did I? I said whether or not anyone joins me depends on how well I get along here. _I_ intend to stay until I am forced out."

Lucy looked thoroughly confused. I was starting to think she wasn't the brightest flame on the candelabra. "Why would someone force you out? You seem perfectly respectable."

"Just a figure of speech."

"Oh."

"While we're on the subject of family matters, who is the lucky man?"

"What?"

I pointed at her hand. She looked down at the small, polished diamond as if she had forgotten it was there. "Oh, him. His name is Arthur Holmnwood. He's a nice man, respectable. He will be a Lord soon, you know. I shall have a very comfortable life with him." The words sound happy when read, but I assure you, they were not. She was looking at the ring with a beaten expression and speaking with a low, melancholy voice that was the perfect perpendicular to what I'd heard of her so far.

"You don't want to get married?"

Lucy turned her bitter expression from her hand to me. "Not at all." She laughed a little pitifully. "Is it that obvious? I managed to put off getting engaged this long, but I got three suitors in one day. I'm sure they were all respectful gentlemen. There was Dr. Seward . . . but he's so stiff, and Mr. Morris. He's an American." Pause. "Don't get me wrong! Being American has nothing to do with it. But, all the same, he is him. And then Arthur asked me, and he was so sweet and everyone was telling me what a good husband he would be and how much he loved me. How am I to deter that?"

"You can't be expected to."

"I wish I could have."

"Have you told anyone this?"

"Well, no," said Lucy pensively. "Just you, and to be honest, I don't know why I am. No offense, but I can't believe I'm saying all this to someone I met last night. But it's nice to tell _someone_."

"What about Mina? If she's such a good friend of yours- ?"

Lucy snorted. "I couldn't possibly. You don't understand- you haven't met her." I had every intention of meeting Mina (and preferably berating her on her choice of boyfriend) but I said nothing. Lucy kept on. "Mina's so _good_. She is everything I'm supposed to be but aren't. She happily engaged, she wouldn't know. She'd listen, but she wouldn't _know_."

"Oh." I was thinking again. "I think I could help you."

She raised her eyebrows. "And how's that?"

"Ask no questions, and I'll tell you no lies." I started toward the back door. "Come on, I'll show you the apple tree. It's a little too sweet, if you ask me," A_ lot_ too sweet. "But it'll get us by. Follow, please." Lucy gave me a funny look, but she followed.

"What a pretty tree!" Lucy sighed when she saw it. Being outside had brought back the bubbly, cheerful Lucy, but that didn't make me forget what she had said earlier. If luck was on my side, I _could_ help Lucy. It would take tact, though. "It's so pink in bloom. I've always wanted one of these in my yard."

She tried to reach the lowest apple- big, round, and blood-colored- but couldn't. She leapt and fingers missed it by centimeters. Lucy tried again, and again. It was depressing, because she was never going to reach that apple, and this is a hardcore pessimist talking.

"Miss Westenra, do you want help with that?"

She was panting. "That would be nice."

Tall as I was, I didn't have to strain any to reach the apple. Once it was plucked, I tossed it into her hands. "Here. Have fun with it."

Lucy shook her head. "Men, honestly. You're not around girls much, are you?"

I didn't really know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

"You can't just say 'Here, take it," if you're giving something to a girl. You have to pretend to care, you know."

"Okay, fine." I took the fruit back (damn fruit) and got down on one knee. "Lucy Westenra, a seraph unto us all, would you do this humble fruit the honor of your touch and allow me the pride that it was I who gave it to you?"

Lucy giggled. "Not quite, Mr. Dracula. Give it another go."

"Okay . . ." I took a deep breath and summoned up my acting skills. "Miss Lucy Westenra, will you do the honor of taking this apple from me?" I asked softly, seriously.

Even though this was the third time giving her the same apple, it had the same effect as if I had done this on my first try. Blood rushed to her cheeks and her eyes flickered downward. Shyness in girls was disconcerting; it went against most of- okay, all- of _my_ experience.

This was going to be _easy_.

"Wow, that was- that was good. You have, um, potential." Lucy let out her breath in a whoosh.

"I have a good teacher." I stuffed the apple into her hand. "Come along. The shortcake's getting cold."

After she left, I had to go upstairs and let my gag reflex do its work and throw up that awful shortcake before going back to bed.


	22. In Which Dinner is My Own Private Hell

That evening I went sightseeing.

Apparently, there is nothing in Whitby besides Whitby Abbey and . . . you know, houses.

So I took a walk on the beach for a little while and looked around. That's only interesting for so long unless you're going swimming, and I wasn't. So I walked the dark streets for a little while and thought about my plans for Lucy.

Several gentlemen with unbuttoned collars and a strong smell of alcohol stepped out of an alleyway to my right and asked for all of my money halfway through my walk. That was a shame, since it had been so pleasant before and now I had to go and ruin it. But oh well.

"Hold his arms! . . . okay, _sir_, hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt. Hey, what did I- you- what- oi, hold him! Can't you- AHH! NO! NONONO! I'm sorry, I'll leave! Alright, alright, I'm – AHHH! OH _GOD! YOU BROKE IT! AGRH! SOMEONE HELP ME! MATES! STOP! Oh God, please, I'll give you any- AHHHHHHHHH-" _Thunk.

This just goes to show, you should never, ever try to overpower someone without needing to, because you never know if they happen to be a 500-year-old vampire who does not enjoy being mugged.

As an afterthought, I stole their wallets and left them in the gutter.

Upon returning home from my eventful walk, I explored more of Carfax Abbey. It was really a grand old place, a diamond in the rough. So _old_. You've probably noticed, but I _love_ spiderwebs and hidden passageways, and Carfax had just that. It was like a smaller version of the castle.

Lucy came over around noon. I was actually not asleep, just reading. By the end of my voyage I was starting to think that if I read my plays any more my head was going to explode, so I'd stopped by a bookstore and gotten myself some old, musty volumes. One of them was by a Lord Byron, as he referred to himself, and it was a collection of poetry and a vampire story. I, personally, thought he sounded a little fruity.

"Hello!"

"Aren't you chipper, Miss Westenra?"

"You don't need to call me by such a formal title. That's for acquaintances, and I think I like you better than that." She smiled brightly. She had braided her blonde hair today and tied it through with blue ribbons, was wearing a loose, thin dress. To me, she looked the human version of springtime.

"Very well, then. Aren't you chipper, _Lucy_?"

"It's the day." It was very clear and very blue outside. I myself did not care for it. "Anyway, my mother want to ask you over for dinner this evening."

A long silence.

"Dinner."

"Yes."

"With your mother."

"Indeed."

"This evening."

"Quite."

"And Mina?"

"Maybe."

"I'm not really sure if I can," I said desperately in a last-ditch attempt to wriggle out of dinner. "I think I have something going on tonight, really, I-"

Lucy chuckled and folded her arms across her chest. "You men. As soon as anyone's mother comes into the picture, you bow out. My mother is nicer than that, I'll have you know." She paused, her smile fading slightly. "Well, if you're not averse to her asking you about your love life, I think you'll make it through fine."

When she said that, a little part of my soul died.

"So, is it a plan, then?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again without saying a word. I did, after all, want to be on very good terms with this girl before I brought her over to vampirism. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"In that case, what time?"

Lucy smiled again. "Six should be fine."

"Six it is."

---------------------------------------------------------

I was _nervous_ as _hell_. 

It sounds funny, writing it down now. You wouldn't expect the King of Vampires to be breaking out in a cold sweat over dinner with a girl and her parents, but I was. I really was.

I showed up on her doorstep, promptly at six, with several napkins in my pocket. I intended to use these to spit food into because I am just that classy. But I digress.

The girl who opened the door was not Lucy or anyone of her age group. It was an older woman, with medium gray hair in a loose bun, a lined face, and prying, introspective eyes. She was wearing a very, very modest outfit (and for that, I was grateful) that was wrinkled and faded, although nevertheless clearly her evening wear, with a brooch at her throat. The only physical way I could attach her to her daughter was that their eyes were precisely the same shade of blue.

"Mr. Dracula?" I nodded. "Yes, we've been expecting you. Come on inside."

I stepped over the doorframe.

Their house was fairly well-attended to; everything was clean and slightly extravagant, there were servants scurrying around doing last-minute tasks, and I assume the food smelled good. Mrs. Westenra was surveying it all with a slightly smug look. "We have such good help. You know, it's terribly hard to get good people these days, but we've never had any trouble with this lot. How are yours?"

"My . . . what?"

"Your help."

I was spared answering when Lucy came out of a door I assumed led to a kitchen or dining room, saw me awkwardly standing next to her mother, and panicked. "Mother, they need you in the kitchen!"

Mrs. Westenra went to see what the problem was, and Lucy covered her eyes with her hands. "What'd she do?"

"Ask me about my 'help.'"

"Oh. Well, I'm terribly sorry. I figured I could get the door before she did." She half-turned toward the door. "Hey, _Mina!_"

Another girl came out of the door. She was taller than Lucy, although somewhat narrower through the shoulder, green-eyed and darker-complexioned, though still pale, with very long, wavy hair. I couldn't _quite_ place what color it was, but if I had to hazard a guess at somewhere between very dark red and a very dark brown.

"Ah," said Mina, looking at me. "You must be the Mr. Dracula I have heard so much about."

"And you Mina."

"Yes." She smiled slightly and went around into the dining room. Nice enough girl, I thought, if a little guarded. Or at least she had a better sense of personal safety than her friend. Thank god _somebody_ here did.

A dinner bell rang.

Lucy pushed me into a dining room and handed me a chair.

Her mother had already gotten us seated. She put me and her on the ends and the girls on the long sides of the table. This arrangement made me very, very uncomfortable and judging by the way Lucy was squirming, I supposed she did too. The food was chicken or something like that.

"So, Mr. Dracula," Mrs. Westenra said, smiling the way I imagine a shark smiles. "You have, I hear, bought Carfax Abbey?"

The sounded innocent enough. "Yes."

"My! Such a big, spooky old house. Whatever made you decide to inhabit it?"

"It has history."

"That it does." Mrs. Westenra waited a moment, as if to see if I would say anything more. When I did not, she continued. "That's really much too much house for one person."

"Not really."

"I think so."

"I don't."

Lucy put down her silverware and pressed one hand to her forehead. Mina, meanwhile, was looking at the ceiling as though expecting to see the meaning of life written out in its tiles.

"But you must get lonely, all by yourself."

I shook my head and smiled a little. "I haven't got time to be lonely. Lucy is over too often for me to be lonely."

This apparently meant something very, very different to her than it did to me, because Mrs. Westenra looked appalled. Mina paused and looked up at me, eyebrows raised.

"I've been showing him around Whitby, _Mother_," Lucy said under her breath. "It's not like that."

"I suppose Lucy hasn't thought to tell you she's getting married this spring," said Mrs. Westenra, in a somewhat sharper tone.

"Actually, she has. To Arthur Holmnwood, who is positioned to become a lord."

There was a long pause. "Yes," Mrs. Westenra said finally, and she sounded somewhat appeased. "Yes, that's him." She cleared her throat. "But come this spring and the wedding, Lucy will have to keep a household up and running, and she'll be too busy to be your seeing-eye dog around Whitby, I'm afraid." Lucy was working very hard to keep her face expressionless. Her mother reached out and touched her shoulder affectionately. "The dear, she's so excited."

I turned and focused on Lucy, my one safe harbor, instead. She was looking downwards and shredding her napkin. "Yes, that would be a shame. I would miss her."

Lucy half-smiled.

"You should think about finding yourself a lady friend," Mrs. Westenra continued, beaming. "I think I know a few-"

"No, thank you." If I took another Bride, I think they'd gang up and eat the weakest one.

"Are you quite certain? Because there is a Miss Brigid Stanton whom I think you would get along with wonderfully."

"_Mother_," Lucy hissed through her teeth.

"Brigid got proposed to two days ago," Mina pointed out, and I tried to look unhappy that I did not get Brigid Stanton thrown at me.

"Oh," said Mrs. Westenra, blushing. "Well, there are plenty of others I could introduce you too."

"Mrs. Westenra," I said, starting to feel very annoyed. "If I feel the need for female companionship, I will find some on my own time and with my own effort. Besides, I would probably go back to Romania to look for one."

Lucy's mother smiled again. "Oh yes, I was wondering about your accent! Romania. I suppose they wear their hair extra long over there." Before I had a chance to retort, she moved on. Damn. She was good. "How interesting. What line of work were you in?"

"Aristocracy, if that's a career line."

Lucy and her mother looked both surprised and impressed. Mina had gone stiff.

"Aristocrat? What kind?" Mina said, and it occurred to me that she was much smarter than I had thought at first.

"Count."

"_Really_," said Mina, turning her head and staring at me directly. "My fiancé went to Romania to work for a Count."

"_Well_, for one there's more than one count in the entire country, and there are also several other forms of nobility. Are you sure you haven't gotten mixed up?"

"Quite sure," said Mina, staring at her plate now with furrowed eyebrows.

"What does he do?"

"He is a lawyer."

, dear. _Was_ a lawyer. "I always thought lawyers were supposed to be untrustworthy characters." 

"You are mistaken, then." There was no denying that Mina was angry, but she was holding it in well.

"What was the name of your beau?"

"Jonathan," said Mina, as though relishing their taste. "Jonathan Harker."

"He stayed at the same inn I was at," I said. "I did not much care for him."

"Fortunately," said Mina in an icy voice that left nothing to the imagination as to how she felt about me. Well, fine. I didn't like her much either. "I _do_."

A long, awkward pause.

"I've never had dinner with an aristocrat before," Mrs. Westenra, clearly trying to break the silence. "What a day today is turning out to be!"

"Yes," I said, discreetly shoveling food into my napkin and putting it in my pocket.

Mrs. Westenra opened her mouth to talk again, but Lucy interrupted her by scraping her chair back noisily and standing. I mimicked her. "Mother, I'm terribly sorry, but Voivode has other engagements this evening."

"Voivode?" Mrs. Westenra asked.

"Yes," I sighed.

She stood up as well, and Mina followed her, somewhat reluctantly. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you. I'll send some girls your way." Ordinarily, I would have been very pleased with this offer. Not tonight. Lucy elbowed me in the side and went out the door. I followed her.

"I'm really, really sorry," she moaned as soon as we were outside. "I told her to keep a handle on herself."

"It's perfectly alright. Mothers are mothers."

"No, I thought it would be much more pleasant than that. I owe you, I'm afraid."

"Lucy-"

She kissed me very suddenly, put her arms around my neck. I kissed her back without hesitation. (Who hesitates in a moment like that?)

"There!" Lucy half-said half-panted when we broke apart, straightened up, and smoothed various articles of clothing. "Now I don't owe you anymore." She smiled awfully big for a girl who was kissing for "payment," tucked her hair behind her ears and went back inside.

I skipped back to Carfax. Life- is- good.


	23. In Which Lucy Bears Her Soul

Lucy came over very late for her. After dark, in fact, and when she arrived she was in a loose, white nightgown that seemed to glow in the darkness, her hair hanged loose, and in bare feet. She was blushed.

"Good night, Lucy."

She half-smiled and came in, leaning on the door when it shut. "I'm sorry I didn't come over earlier today. My mother didn't want me to."

"Dinner went that badly, did it?"

"Apparently," Lucy sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Lucy snapped harshly. It might well have been a different person speaking through her mouth. I decided just to let her vent. "It's _her_ fault. She doesn't think it's _proper-_" Lucy sneered the word. "To come over here. She wants to save me for Arthur, you know. That's all. My mother just wants me to get married and have children and be _good_."

"And I know you don't want that."

"No. I don't. I'm nineteen. I think that's old enough to choose for myself, isn't it? What if I want to become one of those New Women? It's my decision, and she can't make me."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, what right does she have to control me? I'm an adult. I should be able to do what I want." Lucy stopped leaning on me and stood up, started pacing.

"You should be." Telling people what they want to hear is a very useful skill.

"Yes, I should." Lucy stopped fuming and sat down again. "Did your mother do this to you?"

I tried to remember. "Not really."

She frowned. "It just occurred to me, I don't know how old you are."

"Uh." Tricky question. When I feed, I get younger, when I don't, I age, and without a mirror, it's impossible to tell how old I look. I looked down. My hands looked pretty young. "How old do I _look_?"

"Twenty-five?"

I sighed. "Wrong, twenty-seven."

Lucy chewed on her lip. "There's an awful lot Mother and Mina don't know about me. You know, they think I sleepwalk."

"And . . ."

"I take walks at night. And whenever they come to get me I say I didn't know what I was doing. My mother would stop me if she knew I was just walking."

"That would be a shame. Nighttime is very pleasant."

Lucy looked at me. There was a shrewdness to her eyes now. "You said you could help me with this."

"Yes."

"So help me."

"Not now."

"Yes, _now_."

"No. The timing's wrong. Tomorrow night."

"Here?"

For some reason I didn't like that option. "The graveyard. St. Mary's, I think it is."

"Feeling mysterious, huh?"

"A little." I stood up and pulled Lucy to her feet. "You should get back before someone notices you're missing."

"I don't want to."

"_Go_, Lucy, and have a good night."


	24. In Which Bite Me Has a New Meaning

Lucy didn't just glow in the full moon's light, she _shined_.

Like Katherina's, it caught the moonlight and held onto it. It was a little disconcerting.

"Voivode, hi."

"Good evening, Lucy."

Lucy was in a nightgown and no shoes, again. She crossed one leg over the other. "So, how's your day been?" She was trying to pretend she wasn't interested in the real question: How on earth are you going to help me?

"It was a little dull." I sat down next to her. Lucy didn't move away. Lovely.

"That's a shame."

"Yes." I took a deep breath. The last time I bit someone with intentions of turning them was two hundred years ago and Elizabeth was so tired (in addition to her, um, typical disposition) I could have bit her without saying anything and it wouldn't have mattered. "Lucy, I'm thirsty."

Lucy must have thought it was thirst for her body, not her blood. She blushed in anger. "So that's your idea of helping me? Deflowering me?"

"Deflowering? Did I say anything about that?"

"Thirst for what, then?"

"Blood."

She stared at me, wide-eyed and bewildered. "Beg pardon?"

"_Blood_," I said, very clearly. "And yes, you heard correctly."

"Okay, this is getting a little weird."

I thought of drinking. Drinking deep and drinking my fill. My fangs started to push out, cutting my tongue. I opened my mouth to make room for them.

"Oh my god," Lucy gasped.

"I 'ow," I said, because it's difficult to talk when you can't close your mouth properly, and inched forward.

"Wait," said Lucy, sounding very panicked indeed now. "Wait, hey, what are you-"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"_Lucy!_ _LUCY!_"

My head snapped up; running up the soft, cobble-stone lane was a figure in a nightdress and a hastily done overcoat with untied hair of a color partially red and partially brown. Mina. _Shit_.

Lucy groaned and shifted a little under me.

Mina was going to be here in two minutes.

Lucy was very susceptible.

"Lucy," I hissed. "Don't come to see me anymore. I will come to you."

Lucy made an affirmative type of noise.

A cloud passed in front of the moon then, and I shrunk, my overcoat turned into a pair of wings, and by the time the cemetery was bathed in pearly light again I was a little bat sitting on the head of a nearby statue. Shape-shifting is dead convenient.

Mina came up around the winding graveyard path with the awkward sprint of someone who is not only naturally disinclined to run at all but half-asleep to boot. She went to Lucy and put her hands on her shoulders. Lucy, in her semi-conscious state, clutched her dress to her throat and shivered.

Mina was on that like a shot. In two seconds, the overcoat was off, wrapped tightly around Lucy, and fastened at the neck with a safety-pin. Despite this, Lucy moaned again and shifted her hand up to her throat itself.

Mina carefully removed her shoes and put them on Lucy. When that was done, she started to shake her, light at first, and heavier when Lucy did not respond.

Lucy opened her eyes at last, weakly, and wrapped her hands feebly around her friend's dress. I mentally cursed Mina. First time vampire victims are not supposed to be woken up after ten minutes; a bite is something they need to rest for some time after_. GodDAMN it, Mina, you're screwing it all up_.

"Lucy, come home with me," Mina said in a tone that left nothing to be argued, and Lucy got up slowly and followed her, childlike. I watched them go as far as possible until they were blocked from my sight by a large house.


	25. In Which Renfield is Introduced

I slept through the next day. And let me tell you, it was _great_.

As nice as Lucy was, it was a relief not to be smiling false smiles and being annoyingly cheerful. For once, I really, truly got to sleep in as nature intended me to. Thank God.

I got up, got dressed, paid Lucy a visit. She was entirely asleep and didn't make any noise. I was tempted to kick Mina's bed when I passed, but I doubted that would help me accomplish my goals. Ah well. Maybe soon.

Afterwards, I had the whole of the town to myself.

I went back to Carfax.

I lead an exciting life.

The next evening I misted in, Lucy was awake. Mina was fully unconscious, but dear Miss Westenra was sitting with her back to the wall and her knees up to her chest. She looked quite tired.

"How are you doing that?" she yawned.

"I'm not. You're dreaming." I think the "dreaming" excuse is probably the stupidest excuse in the history of excuse-making. Have you _ever_ had a dream where one of the characters in it says it's one? I haven't. No one I know has.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Could I fly, then?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"How long have you gone without sleep, Lucy?"

She tried to stifle a yawn. "I think twenty-three hours."

I folded my arms. "Lay down. Now."

She did and was asleep within five minutes.

"Humans," I muttered.

Lucy did not try to stay up for me for a long while, which just made my job that much easier. A little duller, perhaps, but that is evidently the price of companionship. It was a price I could deal with. For a while.

I say "for a while" because when things get too dull- you've noticed this, I'm sure- I get twitchy. That's why I keep Katherina around. Things don't ever get too dull.

The days passed.

On August 19th, something interesting happened. _Finally_. Two interesting things, actually.

When I came in, not only was Mina's bed empty (_YES!_) and unslept in, Lucy was awake again. She'd planned this one, she had a cup of straight coffee in her hands. "I'm definitely not dreaming now."

Lucy was looking less alive. She was thinner, her hair was not as bright, and despite the fact that she was sucking down more coffee than air, she still looked exhausted. Good. She was well on her way to being a vampire- not a "vampiress," "vampire" is a platonic term. I hoped I could turn her quickly and avoid a lot of pain and confusion.

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly sure. I'm drinking coffee."

"Maybe you're only dreaming drinking coffee."

She did not look like she had enough with energy to debate this. "Possibly."

I considered pushing it, but decided not to. "Where did Mina go?"

"To get Jonathan."

I could _not_ have heard that right. "I'm sorry, what?"

"To get Jonathan. Her fiancé. She got a letter today from some convent in Romania saying he caught brain fever. She went to go see him and nurse him back to health, I guess."

"_You have GOT to be kidding me_," I hissed, mostly to myself.

"No," said Lucy. "He's delusional, apparently. Talking about vampires and ghosts and werewolves."

I wanted to bang my head on the nearest hard object. Harker was harder to kill than a cockroach. First, he escapes Kat's wrath- which, in and of itself is quite a feat- survived a coma, managed to go out the window with bedsheets into the cold, hard wilderness, and _he was still alive_. What does it take to freaking kill him and be done with him?

Lucy finished her coffee. It should be noted that unless the drinker in question has sufficient sleep and bloodstream, coffee with make them shaky but not more alert. I drank when she was finished.

Two minutes after I arrived home, literally, there was a commotion on the other side of my fence. There was the unmistakable sound of crunching glass, people running and yelling.

"_RENFIELD!_"

"Oy, Renfield, stop! You, there, grab him!"

There was an _oof_, a noise like an elephant stomping on something, and a yelp not unlike a dog's.

Something hit the other side of my stone fence and a pair of pale hands gripped the top. Half a second later, their owner was up and over the top of the fence. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, very thin and pale, but evidently very strong as well. He had close-cut, unclean brown-gray hair and unusually huge eyes that were a disconcerting shade of silver. I knew this because he was looking up and the window I was seeing this through while trying to navigate through Carfax's jungle.

He went around the corner of the house and I came barreling down the stairs to ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing.

"Master!" he shrieked, clearly enjoying himself.

"What?" I said, all the fiery what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing spirit sort of dying.

"Master! I found you, at last! I have planned this escape for many nights!"

I remembered there was an insane asylum next door. I was going to get all the crazies. "Yeah, um, that's really-"

"Show me how you Change!"

"_What?_" I snapped.

"You Change! I have seen you!" His moment of clarity passed and he yelled, "I am here to do your bidding, Master, I am your slave and you will reward me, for I will be faithful! I have worshipped you from long and afar off! Now that you are near, I await your commands and you will not pass me by, will you dear Master, in your distribution of good things?"

"_Shhh!_" I hissed. "No, I won't- um- pass you by. I'll find you later, just _go!_"

His pursuers came around the corner and I vanished.

Renfield, if that was his name, did not take my words to heart. He fought the men in white coats- there must have been ten of them, all healthy- off for a good twenty minutes before they wrestled him to the ground and put him in a pair of handcuffs and brought him back to his room. I checked on him; he was bound in a straightjacket and tied to the wall.

Even this did not silence him. When he saw me through the barred window, he struggled against his bonds, let out a high, lilting cry and shouted, "I shall be patient, Master! It is coming, _coming, COMING_!"

Ah, London.


	26. In Which Renfield Freaks ME Out

I visited Renfield the next evening in a cloud of both excitement and tentativity. I'd had misgivings, almost not gone about three times, but eventually I did go up to his window and regretted it almost as soon as I did.

"_MASTER!_" he cried, rocking back and forth. He was in a straightjacket, see, and chained to the wall. "Master, come in! Com-"

"_Shh!_" I misted in. His room was small and white, sporting a bare, metal bed and a single light. It was incredibly depressing.

He didn't look too abashed. "Yes, Master, of course, I am sorry," he stage-whispered. "I will be quiet."

"You'd better."

"I'm sorry, Master."

"Good. Now, kindly explain yourself."

"Explain myself?" Renfield said, looking politely confused. "About what?"

I sighed through my teeth. "About going over my garden wall yesterday, Renfield, and babbling about changing."

"Oh yes, that," Renfield said, looking like someone who has remembered where they put their errant house keys. "I saw you Changing into a bat through my window. I wanted to see you Change again." This pitch of his voice shot up and he strained against the chain, his creepy silver eyes rolling like a horse's in excitement. "But Master did something _better_! Master appeared out of thin air! Master could help-"

"_Shh!_"

Renfield clenched his jaws together, setting a muscle below his ear twitching. He collapsed back against the wall.

_ Okay, as long as you don't do anything exciting to him, like, you know, ask a question, he should stay calm_.

"Now," I said in as low, as quiet, as soothing a voice as I could muster. "Help who?"

"Help _me_," said Renfield, his eyes widening and his lips pulling back to show his teeth in a nervous whimper. He cringed backwards against the padded wall like a dog waiting to be kicked. "I wanted to ask the Master if he would help _me_."

"Help you? With what?"

I didn't know what was wrong with Renfield, but I was willing to bet it had something to do with multiple personalities. There were at least three; psycho, pathetic, and Edmond Dantès. He switched back to Psycho. "Help me with the Doctor!"

"Renfield, you really have to explain who these people are."

"The Doctor," Renfield hissed, straining forward again. His eyes had narrowed to slits. "The Doctor who watches over me. He is a bad person, a bad, bad man, he makes me promises and he denies me what was given, and oh, do I hate him, the Doctor is a _MONSTER!_"

"Renfield, for the love of God _be quiet_!"

He went back to Pathetic immediately. "I'm sorry."

"You should be. No wonder you're in a straightjacket." I sat down on his bed. It was like sitting on a board. "Now. What about the doctor?"

"The Doctor. His name is Dr. Seward. He _lies_."

"God forbid."

He didn't appear to hear the sarcasm in my tone. "He does! He promises things! He told me to get rid of my flies- I got spiders- he told me to get rid of them- I got birds- he told me to get rid of them. I asked him for a kitten- he says 'Would you not like a cat?' and I said a cat would be better, and _then_ he says no!" Renfield looked at me plaintively.

"What were you doing with the animals?" I'd be reluctant to give a crazy a cat too.

"Eating them. They have blood," Renfield explained. "The blood is the life. The blood helps me."

Wow. Can't argue with that logic.

"You were eating flies?" I said, genuinely interested now. "You can do better than crawlies, can't you?"

"I did. Birds."

"Birds are a bit better. What about the cat? Where you going to eat that too?"

"First I would feed the birds to it. _Then_ I'd eat it."

"Solid strategy."

"Thank you. But I don't have a cat. The Doctor denied me him." Renfield's eyes sparkled with hate. He seemed to be switching slowly to Psycho. "But the Doctor is sad. He is worried about something. A girl. I have heard the Fledglings talking about it in the hallways."

"Er, fledglings?" A Fledgling is a newly created vampire who still depends on the vampire who created it for survival. Lucy would be one soon. "I think in the medical world, they're called orderlies."

"One and the same," Renfield said indifferently. "A girl is sick, and it makes the Doctor sad." He bore his teeth in a snarl. If he had grown fangs, I would not have been surprised. "I hope she _dies_."

Something clicked and I gasped.

"I didn't mean it, Master," Renfield yelped, apparently thinking I was offended.

"No! I know the girl! Her name is Lucy- Lucy Westenra. I'm turning her into a vampire. That's why she's sick. I guess you get your wish, Renfield."

"The Master is good!" Renfield said gleefully.

I looked outside. The sky was lightening. My cue to leave. I took steps toward the window. Renfield strained against the jacket. "Where is the Master going?"

"The Master is going home, because I'm tired."

"Oh. But- but . . . the Master will come back? The Master will show me how to change?"

"Possibly."

Renfield looked like a dog being kicked.

"Alright, fine. Yes." It's not like I have a bursting social calendar.

"Thank you, Master!"


	27. In Which Renfield is Kind of Annoying

Time has a way of running along when nothing much is happening. This, I'm sure, was accented by my old age, but it still felt shorter, much shorter, than two weeks since Renfield decided to reenact _The Count of Monte Cristo_. The only way to really tell the time was to chart the waning of the moon and the worsening of Lucy's health, which was coming along nicely.

And yet, somehow, when something isn't going how you want it, time has a rather irritating habit of slowing down.

"Tell me how you Change." This must have been the fifth time he'd asked me that evening. I ground my teeth.

"Stop asking that!"

"Please," Renfield pleaded. He was in a different room now, considering he had had very few outbursts since we last touched on the story. His room was no longer padded and he was free to move as he pleased. He sat in the corner with his knees up to his chest, hugging them, and watching me with wide, silver eyes. "I must get out of here. If I could Change like you, I could escape. I could reap my revenge on the Doctor and the Fledglings."

"_No_."

"_Please_."

If he asked me one more time, I was going to have an aneurism. "_Fine_. Just- stop- _needling_ me."

"Really?" Renfield looked as if he could believe I had actually given in. "Master will tell me?"

"Yes, Master will tell you, if you leave the damn subject alone."

"I will! I will!"

I deliberated on the best way to go about this. "What do you know?"

"That Master is a Creature. Master is not a person. Master is _better_ than a person."

"Close enough. Master drinks blood to survive- sort of like you, only more necessary- and when Master needs to, because of drinking, Master can do supernatural tricks." That should be a perfectly reasonable explanation, if a somewhat scanty one. But there are things about it that I cannot relay into words, not to him, and not to you, reader. Some things must be felt to be understood, and such vampiric activities are one of them.

"Like what?"

"The usual. Changing. Vanishing." I tried to think. "Climbing walls. Playing with the weather."

"You _control_ the _weather_?" Renfield's jaw dropped and his already-protuberant eyes widened more.

"No, I can _influence _the weather, and then only t_o_ a degree. Fogs. A little rain. That sort of thing."

"_Wow_."

I shrugged. Playing God is little more than second nature to me now.

"And that comes from drinking blood?"

"Yes."

In retrospect, I should have just suffered the aneurism instead of telling him all this. The next evening- fourth of September- Renfield was strapped to the wall again, in the padded room. He looked sullen. "It didn't work."

"What didn't work?" I was starting to get a sinking feeling.

"Drinking blood. It didn't work. I'm back here."

The sinking feeling is quite pronounced now. "Dear God, what did you do?"

"I drank blood," said Renfield, as though this was obvious. "I thought it should be best if it was the Doctor's I drank. It seemed very wise when I thought about it. He was giving me the means to escape." He blinked a little. "But anyway, when the Fledglings-"

"Orderlies-"

"Opened the door to give me my meal I ran through them and went into the Doctor's office. He was sitting at his desk, writing. I just jumped and cut him with my nails so that he bled, and then I drank it." He scowled. "But then the Fledglings came back and dragged me off, and I don't feel any different before I drank it. Perhaps it needs more time to work?"

I sighed. "No, Renfield, if only works if you as old a vampire as I am."

"Will you make me a vampire, then?"

Ew. "Maybe Lucy will."

"I would rather you."

No thanks. "No."


	28. In Which Lucy is Worried

"You shouldn't come in here," Lucy said. She was thin and bony now. Her face was a tapestry of shadow. Even her hair had lost its shine. Her words lacked voice. "You'll catch whatever I have."

"No, I don't think so."

"You don't know what you're doing, coming in here. You'll catch ill. I know you will."

I brushed a few strands of flyaway hair off her forehead. "No. No one is going to catch what you have."

"Do you _promise_?"

I rolled my eyes a little. "Yes, I _promise_. No go back to sleep."

A little satisfaction leaked out onto her drawn and pale face, but not much. "I'm worried."

"You shouldn't be."

"Please don't tell me that," Lucy said, tearing up a little. "Everyone says not to be worried. But I _am_. I'm getting worse." Pause. Finally- "Am I going to die?"

"No. You're going to be much, much better."

"But you don't know."

"Trust me, I do. Don't ask how." I smiled. "You'll be stronger, you'll be faster. And you'll be able to dress better than the dowdy nightgown you have now."

"Hey, I like this nightgown."

"To each his own."

Her thin hand reached up and held mine. "Please keep coming."

"I thought you didn't want me to."

"I know. I'm being selfish, but . . . it makes me feel better."

"I'll come."

"Thanks." 


	29. In Which Lucy is Not My Lucy

On September 7th, Lucy was not my Lucy.

The first thing I noticed was the roses, however faded, were back, and her hair had some more shine, and her skin was brighter. Either she was closer to death than I had envisioned, or something else was the matter. The _second_ thing I noticed was that she tasted different. Ordinary, she tasted the way watermelons smell, but then she had a bitter flavor, kind of like coffee.

"Ugh!"

Lucy's eyes opened faintly. "Hmm?"

I shook my head, and doing so I noticed her arm. The sleeve was pushed back a little, showing a bruise and vaccination mark. I reached over, took her wrist, and looked at it. "Lucy, what is this?"

"My cure?"

"_What_ is _it_?"

She looked unable to comprehend why I was obsessing over this. "A needle mark," she said slowly. "A doctor arrived today. He gave me a blood transfusion. He said it would make me healthier. It is. I'm feeling better. That's good . . . isn't it?"

This was no ordinary doctor. He knew what was happening to her. "What was his name?"

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Van . . . something. H-something. Herring . . . Helping . . . _Helsing!_ That's it. Dr. Abraham Van Helsing."

My jaw must have hit the floor, because Lucy said, "What?"

It amazes me how often Lucy is the bearer of bad news, and how often she is unaware of it. I bore my teeth in what was supposed to be a smile. "Nothing. Dr. Van Helsing and I are . . . acquainted."

"You are? Really? You know what a nice man he is, then."

"Oh yes." The smile was getting harder to keep in place. "We have history."

"Oh good!"

"Mmhmm." 


	30. In Which Van Helsing Wants a Fight

It appeared Van Helsing wanted to do battle. If he wanted a fight over Lucy, he was going to get one.

When I came around Lucy's the next night, she was not alone. She was sleeping, as usual, but at the foot of her bed a large wicker chair had been pulled up. The man sitting in it, reading a rigid, medicinal-related volume by means of a single candle, was not Van Helsing, One of his acolytes, surely.

He had a high forehead crowned with receding black hair, prominent cheekbones, and a bushy mustache, was dressed rather stiffly. His cravat was knotted tightly against his throat. His face reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe's, except his eyes weren't so sad.

I flit against the window, chattering. The man looked up from his book, frowning, and raised his candle, trying to get a better look at me. He didn't open the window, but I didn't expect him to.

The next evening, the man who had stayed up with her was gone, but the chair was still there, and Lucy looked more alive. Damn. Every night life gained back was another night of biting, and I wanted to bring her over as soon as possible. Something had to be done. I drank twice as much as necessary, and when I was done I felt rather ill (oh, the irony).

The next evening, it wasn't the first man who stayed up with Lucy. It was Van Helsing.

I met Van Helsing a good forty years ago, and it was thanks to Katherina that I did.

Kat had been out doing things she shouldn't have been. When she came home, her front was covered in blood and she was holding a body. A girl, as I remember, who had missed "pretty" by a few inches, whose clothes were nothing special. Just a girl, in other words.

Not to some, it would seem. Two days later, a young man with an outlandish accent came straggling through the forest, his clothing ripped half off his body, raving about "his Josephine." We assumed Josephine was the girl, whom we had already taken care of. We settled in, ignored him, and he vanished.

However, Van Helsing, as he referred to himself, was more knowledgeable than the other would-be vampire hunters. He did go around and collect wild roses and sharpen his own stake out of a tree branch. Even so, we dismissed him until Elizabeth caught him trying to get into the basement and our coffins once. If it had been Kat or me, or even Ava (depending on what mood she was in at the time), he would not have lived to see the outside again. As it was, she yelled at him, he threw a rose at her, promised an eternal vendetta, and fled into the night.

It says something about Katherina, Ava, Elizabeth, and I that we were not overly fazed by this.

He looked the same; his hair was half-turned and his face lined, but it was the same nonetheless. He had made himself comfortable, unlike his acolyte- shoes off, jacket hung over his chair- and was similarly reading. I banged on the glass.

Van Helsing looked up, removing his half-moon spectacles. His entire body seized and stiffened. He shook his head _no_, practically baring his teeth.

I banged on the window again.

He got up, came over, shook his head, and drew the shade. _Bastard!_

The next night, neither Van Helsing nor his acolyte was there, and I got in as usual. I didn't know what to think- they could have left, but I doubted it. They had something up their sleeves. I knew it.

And they did.

When I returned the next day, there were flowers everywhere. Small, spiky white garlic flowers, and when I say everywhere, I do mean _everywhere_. I mean wrapped around doorknobs, smearing on the windowsill, draped around the picture frames and the posts of the bed, stuffed in the keyhole, and in a wreath around Lucy's throat. The smell was stuffy and overpowering. Ugh.

_ Sons of bitches!_ This was the politest of my language.

I came back the next night. Garlic. On September 13th, too. That was when I decided to take things into my own hands. Garlic or no garlic, I was going in.

I let myself in the front door. The whole house had a faintly garlicky scent to it, as if there were so many flowers the smell was drifting. Someone was going to have to tent the house with perfume or something to get it out. Seriously, it _reeked_.

I poked around quietly, not breathing. Lucy's room was at the end of the hallway on the first floor, and I couldn't get through the door. I poked around instead, took a look around. There was a piano and a drawing room in on Lucy's left, a bathroom on the right, and Lucy's mother's room was down the hall. I checked in, saw her mother, and had an idea.

A wonderful idea. A wonderful, terrible idea.

I crept in quietly. Lucy's mother didn't stir. She was sound asleep- dare I say, a dead sleep. She looked prettier with her hair out of its tight bun. More like her daughter.

"Ms. Westenra," I said, and she paused in the act of turning over.

"Ms. Westenra," I continued. "You need to get up. The bad doctor, the Dutch one- he put flowers in Lucy's room. Poppies. They'll make her condition worse. She'll get sicker. You need to wake up, remove the flowers, and dispose of them entirely. Make sure nobody could get them back. Or Lucy will pay the price."

She muttered in her sleep.

"And you need to do it now," I added, and misted.

Ms. Westenra opened her eyes, sat straight up in bed. She put her hands over her heart, breathing rapidly, and wide blue irises flicking around the room with worry. One strand of gray hair fell into her face, and she brushed it out of her way impatiently and then pressed the heel of one hand to her eyebrows.

"Horrible dream," she muttered. "Going to- should check on Lucy . . ."

She kicked the covers off- luxurious covers they were, too- and swung off. She stomped gracelessly down the hall, me in her wake, and peering over her shoulder when she opened the door. The smell was like walking into a wall. Lucy was going to have to take some serious showers.

Ms. Westenra's face twisted into a mother's scowl and she padded, suddenly silent, into her daughter's room, pulling ropes of garlic off as she went. She muttered to herself as she did it, and I caught random snippets of her words like "ridiculous doctor" and "much too stuffy." She pulled the garlic off everything, even cut it off Lucy's throat, stuffed it under her arm, and wrenched the window open, fanning it with one hand. To let out the smell, I supposed. She left the room with me in it, still grumbling, and went downstairs. When I looked later she had minced it up and thrown it into the bushes. Good girl.

I expected no trouble, or, at least, significantly less seeing as the garlic was disposed of and that it would have to be ordered. That was, in retrospect, rather stupid. Van Helsing had knowledge and he had the intent to stop me from winning Lucy, and I wasn't sure whether he had the means to really fight me or he didn't.

Apparently he did.

For four days I could not get in through Lucy's window, because for four days, Van Helsing stayed up with her in the wicker chair at the foot of her bed and because, for four days, a new box of garlic was arriving daily. Lucy was getting too close to health for my tastes. If this kept up, we'd have to start from scratch. Several times I considered just coming in and biting her anyway, Helsing or no Helsing, but he had something else up his sleeve- his kind always do. A bottle of holy water or a small cross on a bracelet. I'd just have to come up with something- that was all. Just be clever.

I needed help here, though, from some four-footed, furry friends. Wolves don't run wild around London- pity- so I found some in the best place I could think of- the menagerie of exotic and atypical creatures.

Simply put, the London zoo. 


	31. In Which Bersicker is of Much Help

The zoo was not closed yet, but it was close to that time. Twilight. I just let myself in at the gate and prowled the aisles, looking for the wolves. As it turned out, they weren't that hard to find; two rows over a few of them- a husky silver one, a smaller golden, and a black, the latter two being females- were the residents of a barred pen with some straw on the floor. I stuck my hand through the bars and stroked the gray head of the male. His lupine face stretched into a smile and he barked and whined excitedly, wiggling all over like a dog. The females followed his lead.

I heard footsteps and withdrew my hand. Within a few seconds, an older gentlemen, white-haired and lined, with a rumpled workman's smock came around the corner. He had an empty bucket in one hand, which he dropped when he saw me. We eyed each other.

"Keeper, these wolves seem to be upset about something," I said, gesturing to them, as a means of breaking the silence.

"Maybe it's you," the keeper said brusquely in a Yorkshire-type accent. He seemed very bad tempered.

"Oh no," I said, smiling sparsely. "They wouldn't like me."

"Oh, yes, they would," the keeper said, imitating me and scowling. "They always likes a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea-time, which you has a bagful."

Better thin than not, I thought, and he was not. The wolves, having apparently decided that they were getting no more attention, laid down near the bars. The keeper noticed their movement and, looking on them fondly, went over and stroked the silver one's ears. I also resumed petting the wolf.

"Take care. Bersicker is quick."

Bersicker. What a horrible name for an animal. "Never mind, I'm used to them."

"Are you in the business yourself?" How he warmed up. That slimy bastard.

"No, not exactly in the business, but I've made pets of several." I decided to come back later when there weren't nosy keepers out and about, and so withdrew my hand, smiled icily, and took my leave.

I returned a little time later; the keeper was gone and the wolves started dancing almost as soon I appeared. I _shh_'d them and they clamped their muzzles shut. Being unable to express their excitement vocally, they wiggled more than ever.

The bars were not particularly wide-spaced. I braced my shoulder against one, bent it, and managed to slither between them. That was an awkward fit. The wolves, now not so keyed up as puzzled, sat back on their haunches and cocked their head to alternating sides. The little golden female had small tawny eyebrows, which only made her look comical.

"You poor, disgraced animals," I sighed, pulling one knee up and pushing against the bars. They creaked and groaned, protesting. "And I can't even take you out of here, you're so domesticated. What a shame."

The golden female whined.

"Yes, I know. Terrible indeed."

The gap was now wide enough for the male- Bersicker- to slip through. I snapped my fingers and called him; Bersicker got to his paws and padded over somewhat cautiously. The females started to whine louder and fret. Someone would notice if they kept it up.

"Quiet."

They quieted.

I walked a little ways and Bersicker came with, keeping up with me. Very good. I stroked his back. "I'll get you back safe and sound, Bersicker, to your girlfriends. They'll be dying to have you back, it seems."

Bersicker wagged his tail.

I picked the lock on the gate so as Bersicker could get through without too much taxation and replaced it when we were through. He did not seem terribly vexed by the thought of leaving the zoo. To the contrary, he seemed eager to see the sights and smell the smells. I let him zigzag wildly across the street chasing the scents, plumy tail waving like a flag.

We reached Lucy's house. The very first thing the wolf did was a face-plant in the rosebushes. It was a shame he didn't know they had thorns. Poor Bersicker kicked it into reverse gear and scrambled out, a vine of thorns was wrapped around his snout. He plopped into a sitting position, raised his head, and uttered a long, pitiful wail to the moon.

"If you don't want a face full of thorns, don't stick your muzzle in the rosebushes," I hissed, pulling the spines out. He whimpered and got to his feet, tail between his legs. "You stupid _poodle_."

He leaned on my leg as if looking for some support. I stroked him for a few minutes, feeling a sort of pathetic disgust, and then shook him off.

"Stay."

He stayed.

I turned into a bat and flit up to Lucy's window. Casing the joint, if you will. The curtains were drawn but after hardly three minutes they opened. By none other than Lucy herself in all of her nightgowned glory, strong enough to walk. I scowled mentally. This was going poorly, but perhaps I could turn this around . . . with a little help from Bersicker, of course.

Lucy looked at me for a little while and then, without shutting the drapes, went back to bed. She laid there for a short time, looking at the ceiling occasionally and sometimes looking back at me, with her hands folded across her stomach. When she was still, she looked for all the world like a well-preserved corpse.

The door opened and Lucy's mother came in. Her hair was tied back at the back of her neck, but other than that she looked the same as she had when I'd seen her last.

I watched as she sat down on Lucy's bed and the two began to converse.

_ Now!_

Bersicker howled and, with prowess I would not have credited him, leapt. His gray forehead hit the glass window first, shattering it beyond repair, and hoisting him into the room. He looked rabid, standing there in Lucy's orderly world, with blood hanging in strings down his scalp and his jaws foaming with adrenaline.

Mrs. Westenra uttered a shrill scream; her hands flailed for purchase, grabbed Lucy's garlic necklace, and yanked. They both snapped at the same time- mother and necklace- Mrs. Westenra falling over into her daughter's lap and the garlic necklace floating to the floor. Lucy bounced backwards against the pillows with a yelp like a dog's and promptly passed out.

Bersicker threw it into reverse again, tugging himself backwards out the window. Poor wolf. He had cut himself, all of them shallow and impeded by fur, a great many times. The blood flow was already ceasing, giving him the bizarre appearance of crimson ribbons flowing out of his skin.

I stroked his long back, noting how much he was shedding, and told him, "Good work."

I took him back to the zoo gates, opened them, and pointed his way in. After some consideration, he looked at me, looked at the gates, and trotted off down the cobblestoned street in the direction opposite to the one we had gone, nose to the ground. I let him go. He would come back here, I was sure of it. No one to feed him or make sure he got brushed or fawn over him would get old fast and he could follow his own trail back to his cage and his two girlfriends, anxiously awaiting his return.

"Poor thing," I sighed, and returned to Lucy's house. It was, by now, three-thirty or so in the morning. All was still. I drank a little, but very little. Drinking could wait. I had to take control of the situation a little more . . . then I could drink all I needed, all I wanted. 


	32. In Which Lucy's Mother is Discovered

I went into the kitchen, looking around for something that would help me. Preferably something obvious. Like a neon sign. Or poster board with little arrows on it. Something like that.

Something was out on the counter. Two bottles, one tall and slim (alcoholic) and the other short and rotund (medicinal). I wandered over. The tall slim bottle was aged raspberry-flavored wine- ew- and the other was a bottle of laudanum. Mother's, I suspected. It was empty, but it hadn't been that way for long- it smelled a little odd and when I turned it over in my palm the rim was still wet.

"Midnight cocktails," I said aloud to the empty kitchen. "That ought to lead to a long, healthy life."

I put the wine back in the cupboard, because having stuff like that out drives me crazy, and I was musing on what else I could do when I heard a stirring elsewhere in the house. The sounds of waking- more than just Lucy. Groans, covers being sifted off, bare feet hitting paneling, and low voices. Maids, probably. No big deal. I misted.

It's hard to always grasp what's going on in a mist. It's like having your consciousness smeared over a vast area, not concentrated like a body is. And in case you were wondering, that is _not_ a good thing. Still, it's nice to be able to get the basic gist of things and not be noticed. So I misted, watched, and waited.

In Lucy's room someone screamed.

Found her mom. Yep.

There was a tumult down the hall and the maids and hired help came out, carrying Ms. Westenra, who was shrouded in white. I sort of followed them as they came into the dining room and placed the body along the table. The sheet they had used was too big for someone as small as she was; it clung to every curve and hung straight down, which somehow made me think of a dead pulse made solid. I could clearly make out the shape of her hands clasped on her stomach.

The servants stepped back then and bowed their heads in respect. Several of them began to cry.

Lucy came in from the back. She was unnaturally pale, there were small cuts on her cheeks from the glass, and her eyes were startlingly blue from inside their red rims, even though her cheeks were dry. She looked at her mother's body with a kind of black solemnity. I felt a little bad for her, but not that much. She'd have eternal life _and_ superpowers soon enough.

It's hard to feel sorry for someone when they have that offer.

I noticed she had the flowers loosely in one hand. Dreamlike, she draped them across her mother's chest. Three of the four maids burst into tears.

I expected Lucy to cry as well, but to her defense, she did not. To the contrary, she turned, hands on hips, and said, "Go into the kitchen and have a glass of wine, _now_." I would not have credited the hardness in her voice had I not been hearing it. Impressive. She'd make a good vampire yet.

Then I remembered there was laudanum in the wine. Oops.

The servants left, leaving Lucy to her own devices. She wavered where she was for a minute or two, looking at her mother's body, and her strength just seemed to give out. Only by pressing her hip against the side of the table did she stay standing. This went on for sometime- almost fall, catch yourself, almost fall . . . and so on and so forth. Eventually, around four, she got the idea to go check on the servants, who had been sucking down the wine/laudanum.

I waited where I was, mentally ticking off the seconds.

In the kitchen, Lucy screamed hysterically.

I followed her in; Lucy collapsed into a chair, shaking as if with cold, and covered her face with her hands. I could hear her teeth chattering like terrified mice.

"Why is this happening?" she wailed, without taking her hands from her face. "_Why is this happening to me?_"

I thought she could have used a little moral support, so I unmisted (I have yet to come up with a formal word for "unmist") and put a hand on her shoulder.

Lucy let out the longest, loudest, shrillest scream I have ever heard in my life- the kind of scream that's like someone's drilling into your brain- and jumped out of her chair like someone had put an electric current through it.

I put my hand over my ear and winced. "Luce, the neighbors aren't going to appreciate that."

She stared at me for a very long time with unnaturally big eyes- it was mildly creepy- as if she couldn't tell who I was for a few seconds, and then she began to cry. I felt very bad for her at that moment; she looked crazy- I know that when people say that they don't usually mean it, but I do. Her hair, which had been in a fairly neat bun earlier, was half-out of its ties and framing her face, but it didn't look pretty, just like she'd been in a fight. Her nightgown was twisted around in a bizarre way, and the light behind made her look very old.

"How- how-" she gasped eventually, "How did you get in here?"

It sounded interrogative, but at that point I could have told her anything and she wouldn't have cared.

"Front door was open."

She whimpered a little and then sort of fell forward- I caught her and she leaned on me. It reminded me of Bersicker for a moment, but I decided not to mention that.

"So are your servants hung over, or what?"

"N-no," Lucy sniffled. "M-m-my mother d-died and th-they went to ha-ave a drink to c-c-calm them d-d-down but there was something in the d-d-drinks and now they've all passed o-out." She dissolved into another round of tears.

This whole "crying" thing is really too foreign to me.

"It's alright, Lucy, please calm down. Aren't you tired?"

"Y-yes!" she wailed. "But there's a w-w-olf out there and I'm scared it's going to c-c-c-come b-b-b-back!"

"I was just out there, there's no wolves."

"Are you _s-s-s-sure_?"

"Fairly. Do you want me to check?"

"_No!_ I want you t-t-t-to stay h-h-h-here." The hand that was on my chest contracted into a fist and held onto my shirt in death grip.

"I was planning on that. You need to go to sleep."

"I can't!"

"Yes, you can."

"_NO, I can't!_" Lucy shrieked. I jumped. "_There is a bloody great hole in my window and glass everywhere_, _I am NOT GOING TO SLEEP IN THERE!_"

"I'll pick up the glass and I'll stay with you."

She whimpered.

"I promised no wolves will get you," I whispered. She buried her face in my shirt.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I took her hand. "You're going to pass out where you are."

She didn't move, so I picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. She was asleep before I put her on her bed.

_ Now_, I thought. _It gets interesting_.


	33. In Which Lucy Finally Kicks the Bucket

With Lucy half-drained of blood, I went around and locked all the doors and windows. Van Helsing was not going to get into this house if I could help it.

When this was done, I thought what else here could incriminate me. Records of my passage, perhaps. Well, there was the fact that Lucy's mother was on the dining room table- I carried her back up and put her beside unconscious Lucy, where she had been before. Now what else?

A diary?

I started going through Lucy's things, looking for one. From what I've heard, everyone in England keeps one- _everyone_. There had to be something around here, and there was- I found it tucked behind the other books on her bookcase- I noticed most of the volumes were in mint condition- covered with a handkerchief.

It was a small book, leather-bound, and it seemed vaguely unassuming. I flipped through it. Most of it (by this I mean "the part of it that doesn't include me") was rather dull, schoolgirl prattling. Lucy's handwriting was very annoying, though; large and loopy, with circles over the _i_'s instead of dots.

I found the parts pertaining to me and carefully ripped them out.

So everything was, for now at least, right with the world.

----------------------------------------------------------

The next night Van Helsing and the other man with the bushy mustache took turns watching and another man, this one with bright red hair, pacing around the house until dawn. This was annoying, but all the same, at least they weren't _total_ idiots. Only partially.

I didn't mind, though, because for all this Lucy did not seem to fare any better. She wheezed and gasped her way through the night, a good sign. Yes, soon.

I was right.

The next night, I was a bat. Lucy was in bed, but the white sheet had been drawn up over her, and there was no motion beneath it. Van Helsing was again in that wicker chair, sitting as rigidly as a guard dog. He saw me through the window and stared at me for quite a while, but I paid him little attention.

_ Is it- is she- yes! She is! Lucy is dead!_

I cheered mentally and barrel-rolled through the air. Van Helsing was still watching, but I didn't care. Why should I? Lucy was dead now. He had lost, and I had won. Where would my care fall to know?

I flapped off, squeaking pleasantly, and punctuating my happiness occasionally with more barrel-rolls. 


	34. In Which Funeral is Spelled with Fun

The next morning, I combed the obituaries.

Sure enough, there was a mention of Lucy and her mother. I reread it carefully several times. It was as follows:

** Local Mother and Daughter to be Buried Today**

_ Lucy Marie Westenra succumbed to anemia last night; her mother, after suffering a fatal heart attack, died the same night. They will put to rest sometime tomorrow together in the local churchyard_.

And that was all. Looks like someone got the news a little late.

I didn't leave the house at all the next day, just slept.

------------------------------------------------

Lucy's funeral was gray.

Literally. As if the skies themselves mourned Lucy's passing, the sun was shaded by broad, roiling clouds, turning the light that filtered down through them silver. The skin of the mourners turned a vague ashy color because of it, and their eyes seemed bluish.

And my god, where there a lot of mourners. Practically all of Whitby had come by, dressed in their church clothes, to express their sorrow for the late Lucy Westenra. I noted quite a few of them were younger men who had less attractive women holding onto their arms and crying. These men showed a fascination with getting as close as they could to her corpse, I noted with amusement.

I stood in the back most of the time, hat tilted down to hide my face (and it fit this time!) and my hands in my pockets, watching carefully. There's a time between Undeath and waking back up for young vampires; some fledglings change in only a few hours and sometimes it takes a week for the whole "vampire" thing to officially set in. I wanted to make sure she wasn't one of the hourly ones or be able to distract everyone if she was.

I waited while the pastor talked about Lucy's unfailing good humor and kind spirit, her piety, her beauty, and how the Lord has his reasons and that mere mortals are not fit to question them. The standard talk at a funeral- I'd heard it all before. It was vaguely annoying; if one had never known Lucy before (and I suspected most of these people had not, really) they would have thought she was an angel, sent to add light to our lives. I wanted to go up and talk about the Lucy that was nice enough, if a little bit dull, who didn't want to get married, who trusted her heart too quickly, and who tasted the way watermelons smell; but even if I did, it still wouldn't be all of Lucy, and besides, the "watermelons" comment would probably throw people off their stride a little bit.

So I was silent, said nothing.

There was a eulogy- from someone knew Lucy from school, which must have been, oh, _ten years ago_- who idolized her further. I wondered if Arthur, her prominent fiancé, didn't get up and say something about her, but he did not. It was only I-Said-Three-Words-To-Her-In-Grade-School up there, talking about how Lucy "shined light onto her existence" (that's a direct quote) and I found myself rolling my eyes.

"Oh, she was so young," a middle-aged woman sobbed from to my right. "And so good . . ."

"She's with God now," said her equally middle-aged husband, craning his neck to see Lucy's corpse.

_ It isn't a funeral_, I thought. _More of a christening. There's no need to wear black_.

It sounded vaguely poetic, and I really can't stand most poetry, so I shunted it to the back of my head.

Lucy's grave was not in the ground, as I had feared, thankfully. She was to be put to rest in a mausoleum. Thank God. It's hard enough training (and breaking the news) to a fledgling without having to dig them out of the ground beforehand.

After she was carefully sealed away, the crowd dispersed. A few of the mourners had waiting carriages, but most of them either walked home or headed to a more populated area to flag down a hansom. I followed suit.

There was one girl who always seemed to be right in front of me- I know it was the same one because she had vibrantly red hair and she moved slower than molasses- who sent her boyfriend in to get something from a shop she passed. She seemed to have noticed that her beau had been staring at the corpse (can you say "necrophilia?") because she was holding onto his upper arm rather tightly. While he fetched it for her, she waited, and I looked at her a little.

There was some clamor to my right somewhere, but I didn't pay any attention.

The girl and her boyfriend hailed a hansom and went off in the direction of Carfax. I flagged one down and followed them back home.

And waited.

**Dracula the musical quote: ****This is just the beginning, it isn't an end.  
This isn't a funeral, more of a christening.  
There's no need to wear black.  
This is just what I came here for, and the war has begun.  
I'm creating my dynasty, the dark side of the sun.**


	35. In Which Lucy Gets 'The News'

When I returned to the cemetery at about nine or so that evening, someone was screaming.

It was faint, more like an itch under my skin than an actual noise, and far away but definitely there. It didn't take a rocket surgeon to guess who.

I calmly retraced my steps to Lucy's stone tomb and broke the lock. The crypt, which had seemed nonthreatening enough in daylight (if very sad, somehow) looked very ominous when it was covered in shadows. Spiders had made their nests in the corners, and something that looked suspiciously like a bat was rooted up in the corner.

Not a terrible place for a young vampire to be born into. I promised myself I'd work on it.

I put both hands on the edge of the coffin's stone cover and pushed. It slid off with a _sccccccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhCRASH_ that echoed off the small walls of the mausoleum like broken glass.

Lucy burst into tears again.

I really was going to have to break her of that habit.

She looked very pretty now, though, I had to admit. She wasn't wearing a high-collared modest dress or a dowdy nightgown anymore, just a long white dress. Her eyes had turned a very attractive shade of crimson that matched almost perfectly with the ribbon her hair had been tied up with. Her skin was paler than natural, but that was beautiful too, of course.

I held out a hand and helped her up out of her grave. She shoved her face in my shirt almost the second she was on her feet.

"They buried me," she said softly into the fabric.

"Yes," I agreed, putting a hand on the top of her head.

"They think I'm dead."

"Lucy, I'm going to have to tell you something I doubt you want to hear."

She looked up, frowning. Even tear-stained, she looked fantastic. "What?"

"You _are_ dead."

Lucy's hands let go of my shirt and she took a step back, studying me for any sign that I was kidding. "I'm dead."

"Yes."

"No," she said, sounding very confused. "I'm not dead. How can I be? I'm standing here. I can see you."

"Very well, then. Wrong word. You are _Un_dead."

"That means 'alive,' doesn't it?"

"Not precisely. Undead is the term for the technically dead, but still up and around."

"Zombie?"

"Vampire."

She stared at me for several long minutes.

"You're crazy," she said finally.

I laughed. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, dear."

"No," she said, with a hint of panic. "That's a stupid idea and I'm not going to believe it." Lucy turned and started to stride off. "I'm going home."

I caught her shoulder. "If your Van Helsing has gotten to any of the people you're planning on going to, it's in your best interest not to go anywhere."

"_Why?_"

"They'll want you dead . . . or officially dead, anyway," I said casually.

Lucy stared.

"Vampire?"

"Yes."

She barked out a laugh. "You'll have to remind me, then. I never paid attention to any of the stories when I was younger. I know there's something about _biting_ . . ."

"Yes . . ."

"By another vampire . . ."

"Yes . . ."

"But I haven't been bitten."

"Oh?"

"That's the sort of thing that doesn't exactly slip your mind, is it?"

"Actually, it slips minds quite easily."

"So someone bit me."

"Mm-hmm."

"Is that what made me sick?"

"Yes. 'Anemia' is the cover story, I believe, but you and I know the truth."

"This is ridiculous."

She wasn't getting it. I would bet you anything Mina would have latched on by now. "So something must have changed before you got bitten."

"How long before?"

"Oh . . . three days . . ."

"So what happened in the three days before I got 'bitten?'"

_ For the love of God!_ "Yes."

"Well . . . I met you . . . but other than that . . ."

"Lucy," I said with a touch of exasperation. "You have _got_ to be smarter than this."

Those words were the final piece of the puzzle, the sudden electronic _snap_ between synapses, the click of an opening lock. I could see it connect inside her head; her pupils dilated minimally and any flush left into her cheeks drained. She was so pale that someone might have mistaken her for a block of marble, glowing in the moonlight.

_ It is about damn time_, I thought.

"You."

"Me what?" If she didn't say it, I wasn't sure.

"You're a . . . a . . . v-word."

"Lucy, if you aren't going to spit it out, there's no point in continuing this conversation."

"A _vampire_."

"Yes," I said, quite cheerfully.

"And you _bit me_."

"Think of it this way, you don't have to get married anymore."

Lucy shook her head like a dog clearing its ears of water. "I do not accept this."

I rolled my eyes. "If I prove it to you, will you stop prattling and move on with your unlife?"

"Fine, prove it then."

I held my arms out. The fingers elongated and webbed into human-sized bat wings. It's my favorite trick- not worth much to fly on, but awesome as hell.

"_Bloody hell!_" Lucy shrieked, recoiling.

I changed my arms back to normal and put one hand on her shoulder. "I promised to prove it to you, didn't I? We need to move on, now; the night is half-over, we need to get food of some sort, and I have a lot of explaining to do."

She was silent.

"This is your life now. There's not really any point resisting it, unless you look forward to death."

Lucy swallowed, stood up.

"You'll help me?" she asked weakly.

"Yes, Lucy, I'll help you. I will _always_ help you."

"Okay," Lucy said in a small, shaky voice. "You said you had some explanations?"

----------------------------------------------------------------

"So that's everything."

"That's everything."

Lucy thought about that, her pretty face twisting up contemplatively. I took the chance to rest my tongue. Talking for three straight hours about all things nocturnal and bloodsucking is very tiring.

"Well," she pronounced finally, "That doesn't make very much sense."

"No," I agreed, glancing at the sky. The moon had barely begun to get close to the horizon; we had plenty of time to get food before Lucy was due back in her crypt.

"For example, I don't see why _I_ can't turn into a bat."

"Because you just _can't_," I said, annoyed. I must have explained to her the role age plays in power multiple times, and she still hadn't gotten it. It was like arguing with a two-year-old; you have the right of way, but you still can't win. "You're too young."

"Then how long does it take to _not_ be too young?"

"I told you, it depends."

She lapsed into silence for a while. It was very relieving.

Sometime later, she spoke up again, this time it being "I feel odd."

I glanced at her out of my peripheral vision. Her irises had faded to a dull burgundy color, instead of the bright red they should have been.

"Like the flu?" A surprising amount of young vampires react badly to the change. I didn't, but poor Ava spent the first couple days of Unlife trying not to throw up and failing most of the time. It was pretty disgusting, especially considering Katherina wouldn't help me clean up. The room she had been in smelled for weeks afterward.

"Not really," Lucy muttered. One hand moved from her side to her stomach.

"Are you pregnant?" I meant this as a joke- vampires don't get knocked up- but I guess it didn't come across that way. She glared at me from the corners of her eyes and sped up a little.

"_No_, I'm not- I'm- no, I'm not pregnant." It came out through her teeth. I was mildly surprised the grass around her feet didn't wither and die.

I blinked at her. "You seem rather touchy- are you sure?"

"It's not even possible," she muttered. "Trust me."

The synapses connected and I gaped at her.

"What?"

"You're a _virgin_?"

Lucy glared at me, but I didn't particularly notice other than to think that it proved my point. "That's none of your business!"

"You are!"

"What do you care whether I am or not?"

She had a point there. I couldn't say for sure why it irritated me so much, but it did, and a great deal to. It was extremely, extremely frustrating- not just that I couldn't voice why, but also because I knew what she was missing out on.

"No reason. It just seems like nineteen years old is a bit late to get started."

Lucy rolled her eyes, then replied, "Before marriage, it's improper. But dead people can't get married, though, so I guess I won't get to now."

I tried to make sounds that could pass for English, or even something really, really close to English, and succeeded only in making shallow, fishy noises. "Are you _kidding_?"

Lucy looked surprised. "Why would I be?"

I breathed out heavily through my nose and decided not to say anything.

"It's not like I'm missing anything."

"Lucy, just admit you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Plenty of people have stayed celibate their whole lives!"

"I'll thank you to notice that most of them were locked in their rooms for quite a bit of that time."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"You know what it means."

She scowled and turned her face away from mine. "That's disgusting."

"I'm just saying, eternity is a long time to stay white."

Lucy let out an angry sigh and turned her face away from mine. "I am not continuing this conversation."

"I win," I muttered under my breath.

She scowled sill more angrily. "I don't feel like pregnant women ought to, anyway. Not the flu."

"What, then?"

She considered. "Hollow," she said finally.

I laughed. "Oh, Lucy."

"_What_?!"

"That's hunger, dear, no sickness. Have dinner and you'll feel fine."

Lucy blanched, one hand touching her mouth, and shook her head just a little too hard. "No. I'm sure that's not it."

"It is."

"No, it's not."

I shrugged. "Fine, do it your way."

"You're going to eat as soon as I go back to the grave, aren't you?"

"That or before I come back tomorrow. You can feel free to be a martyr, but don't drag _me_ into it."

Lucy looked at me strangely. "Doesn't biting someone and sucking out their blood _bother_ you?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You eat chicken and beef, don't you?"

"That's different."

"Why?"

Lucy looked like she was having an internal battle for a few minutes before saying, "Because they're just animals."

"And so are you."

Lucy shook her head again. "But they're less."

"Less in what respect?"

"I don't know, just less."

"Well, think. Do you mean they aren't sentient?"

"Huh?"

"Intelligent."

"I guess so."

"How do you know they aren't sentient?"

"_Stop doing that!_"

I blinked in surprise. "Stop doing what?"

Lucy's cheeks flushed. "Talking like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like _that!_ In circles! I ask you something and you _almost_ give me an answer- stop it!

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she cried. "Say what you mean!"

I spread my arms, palms up. "My point was, you eat animals because you have to, and don't think anything of it. I eat what I do because I have to, and you call me heartless. There's no difference."

"Animals aren't smart."

"A lot of people aren't, either."

Lucy said nothing. I looked up at the sky. The moon was nearly crouching on the horizon and infinity lightening behind it. We had been walking aimlessly as we talked, and though we had not hopped the low fence that surrounded the graveyard, we had a bit of a hike ahead of us to get Lucy back and avoid the early-morning mourners.

"It's been a weird night," she pronounced, and I had to stifle a laugh. Being told you're a vampire and going on to engage in argument on celibacy and animals rights would, indeed, be a weird night.

"Yes, but it's getting late, or early, I guess. You need to head back to your coffin. You would be surprised how poorly some humans act when they see somebody they know to be dead." She laughed.

I walked her back to her grave and helped her put the lid back on. It was a bloody inconvenience- I'd have to show her how to get out more easily.

"_In pace requiescat_," I said as I walked away from her mausoleum, tilting my face down as though I had been crying.

**_In pace requiescat _Rest in peace.**


	36. In Which Lucy Begins to Adjust

When I came back the next time, Lucy bit me. 

I was moving the lid off her coffin. It had only moved about two and a half inches or so when a pale face jammed itself against the gap and long, white teeth buried themselves to the gums in the base of my left hand. The crypt she was in shivered- I could hear her writhing around in there, trying to force herself upward through the crack. She was quite literally bouncing off the walls.

I yanked my hand free. There was a heavy rip, which bled and throbbed some. If it had been inflicted under other (ie: "normal") circumstances, it would have healed immediately, but vampire bites are notoriously slow to heal. It wouldn't fix itself for a few days, max.

I banged on the lid with my good hand, hard, and barked, "Stop moving!" All motion inside ceased without pause- scowling, a pushed the lid the rest of the way off.

Lucy sat up. Her eyes were duller in _color_, almost brown, but they glowed with fever. "You didn't have to yell."

I gestured with my left hand. Blood dripped onto the grass. Lucy eyed it. "Actually, I did. If you're hungry, dear, I wouldn't suggest biting _me_. I'm not terribly satisfying . . . like that."

If she understood that last comment, she didn't show it. "You bit _me_."

I took her chin in one hand and held her face steady. Lucy's spine curved and her eyes flicked down, a misbehaving child. "I am the master here, and you, Lucy, are the Fledgling. I will ask you not to forget that- if you decide your decisions carry more weight than mine, you _will_ end up getting hurt. Keep that in mind."

I let go of her jaw. Lucy straightened up, brushed hair out of her eyes, and climbed out of her casket and onto her feet. She moved gingerly.

"What are we doing tonight?" she asked in her still-gently-treading voice.

"What do you want to do?" I already knew the answer.

"Eat," she blurted.

"No more moral dilemmas?"

"I'm too hungry for that."

"Wonderful. In that case, come along."

Our walk to the massive stone wall was a silent, heavy one. She kept her mouth closed around questions she was burning to ask, I think, but I didn't bring them up. We had eternity ahead of us.

"Have you got a hair pin?" she asked when we got to the stone barrier and its heavy, iron gate, which sported a padlock easily the size of my fist.

"Yes, dear, I always carry a hair pins around." I blew a piece of hair that had escaped my habitual ponytail out of my face. "Can't you tell?"

Lucy half-laughed, half-scowled. "Well, if you haven't got something to pick the lock with, how are we going to get out?"

I frowned at her and waited for something to prove she was kidding or lying or anything but being serious. Lucy looked back, wide-eyed and innocent and confused. Her blonde eyebrows were raised.

"You're not serious, are you?" I asked eventually.

"Of course I am. How- are- we- to- get- out?"

"We could do one of two things- climb or break the padlock. Since breaking the lock is likely to cause some suspicion and curiosity, I think we ought to climb out." She had a distasteful look on her face. "Are you opposed to climbing?"

"I'm in a dress."

Big whoop. "And I'm in a coat. So?"

"So I can't climb."

"You can _move_, can't you?" Katherina's dress was much more revealing, and she could do plenty. I stuck my foot into a chink in the wall and scaled to the top, which was perhaps a foot wide, in a matter of seconds. "See? Easy. You try."

She eyed the wall hesitantly and pulled herself upward slowly. I sighed in annoyance.

"We haven't got all night."

"I'm working on it!"

I held out a hand and hoisted her to the top of the stone wall. Lucy started to relax; I swung her over the other side and let go. She made a noise the likes of which I have never heard (kind of a yelp mixed with a shriek mixed with a warble, together making an "_EeeYAHHeeeee_" type noise) before landing, perfectly on her feet. I hopped down beside her.

"What did you drop me for?" Lucy demanded.

"It's not like you were going to climb down." At least, not quickly.

"Well, you didn't have to."

"Hah! As if." I tugged on her sleeve. "Now. To dinner."

"How do we get dinner, exactly?"

I shrugged. "Carefully, Lucy. When you get older, you can start feeding on adults, but for now, think small."

"Children?"

"That's right."

"You eat _children?_"

"Lucy, one, I myself don't eat children, and two, do you _really_ want to go down that road again?"

"Oh, right."

I took her hand and we went down the streets of London. The cobblestones were cool and damp, the sky dark and vaguely wet. A cloud of fog hung around the square, logical buildings in much the same way bricks don't.

"How _pretty_," Lucy sighed.

"Yes."

"You know, I've never been around here before. Isn't that awful? I've never even been to my own cemetery."

I laughed. "Well, when you're nineteen you can't go around visiting all the graveyards. The neighbors would think you suicidal."

"How scandalous."

"I _breathe_ scandal."

"Nineteen," she said. "That reminds me."

"Of what?"

"How old are you? You said you were twenty-seven before, but that's certainly not true, is it? I mean, vampires are immortal, aren't they?"

"Good of you to remember." I closed one eye. "I don't remember my age. But I was born in 1306, and it's 1895 now, which means . . . 589 years old on June 6th."

Lucy gaped at me, shocked into silence.

"The worst part is I keep getting brochures from the AARP. They won't take me off their mailing list."

She kept staring at me with her mouth open.

"Lucy, you are making me extremely nervous."

Lucy shut her mouth with a _snap_ and blinked rapidly. Looking positively awed, she asked, "Are you sure?"

"Fairly sure."

"Oh my god!"

"Yes," I agreed. "As you say, 'Oh my god.'"

"That's insane!"

"That's truth, dear. Harping on it is not going to change that fact, and we have more than one thing to do tonight."

"We do? What?"

I smiled. "We have to get dinner, of course, and then there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Who?"

"They call him Renfield."


	37. In Which Lucy and Renfield Meet

"This is dinner?"

The little girl in my arms stirred slightly in her sleep. She was a healthy little thing, pink skin and curly tan hair, completely unconscious, clad in a small little nightgown with sunflowers embroidered along the side. I imagined her mother stitching each petal carefully, brimming with happiness.

Lucy put one hand to her mouth and eyed the child uncertainly. "I mean-"

I held the little girl out again. "And after all the trouble I went to to steal this and you reject it. Don't be so picky."

"What if I hurt her?"

"I'll stop you before that happens. The only consequence is that she'll be woozy for a few days. Turning someone takes maintenance."

No movement.

"Shall I start?"

"When you say 'start-' ?"

I stuck my thumb out and held the nail to the child's throat. "Ready?"

"Ready? What? Ready for what? What are you going to- ?"

I pressed slightly. The little girl made a mildly annoyed noise in her sleep but otherwise didn't react as a drop of blood welled to the surface, grew pregnant, and went down her neck, leaving a pink trail.

Lucy exploded.

I had not expected her to react so savagely, not as hesitant and inherently _good_ a girl as she, but what reacted to the single bead of blood was not her. It was something larger, angrier, and beyond her power. She flung her head down faster than my eyes could follow on the child, white fangs clipping like a dog's, and her hands landed on my shoulders, tightening to the point of pain.

I let her drink for a second, but a little bit of children's blood goes a long way. I put my arm between her and the child, pushing her off.

Her eyes were a bright red again, so bright they glowed in the evening's darkness like hot coals. From her cheekbones down was a mess of blood- young vampires are always messy- and yet her teeth were white. She unleashed one guttural snarl after another, struggling to get to her prey again. My arm slipped, and the force with which she knocked into me almost sent me to the ground.

Okay, enough is enough.

I put the child on the ground and grabbed the back of her neck with one hand, put the other hand under the backs of her knees, and lifted her off the ground. This is a fairly incapacitating move on most people, vampires included, and she hunched her shoulders and arched her back, trying to make me let go. No dice. She scrabbled at my hands with her sharp nails. I still held her.

After a few minutes of nonstop writhing, snarling, and failed attempts to bite, she stilled.

"Are you calm now?"

She just panted.

"Lucy?"

"Yes," she wheezed. "Let me down."

I did, carefully. Lucy gasped for breath, wiping at her mouth with the backs of her hands, whimpering under her breath. I picked up the little girl again, who was not so much asleep as unconscious now, and examined her. For all the blood and how savagely she had been attacked, she did not seem to be much worse for the wear. I got her and Lucy cleaned up in a matter of minutes.

"There now," I asked Lucy as we laid the little girl down in the flowerbeds outside the home I'd gotten her from. "Feel better?

"Yes," she mumbled.

"I thought so," I said, smirking and taking her wrist. "Now come on. We have to visit Renfield." I started to walk.

"Tell me about this Renfield."

I bit my lip and tried to think of something I could say that wouldn't give away the fact that Renfield was hopelessly insane. After a few seconds, the best I had come up with was "He's . . . an interesting person."

"Hmm," Lucy said. "I haven't heard the name before. Is he a foreigner?"

"Ahh . . . no."

"If he's from around here, then I must know him," Lucy insisted, tugging on my sleeve like a five-year-old. "Keep going- has he any children?"

God help us all if he did. "Not that I know of."

"A wife?"

"He doesn't go out, and isn't fancied much."

"Hmm," she repeated. I could practically see into her thoughts. A man with no wife and no children, who didn't mingle in society, was probably no good. "Well, how did you come to meet?"

"It is a good story, actually, and I will tell you the whole thing sometime. The condensed form, however, is that he tried to go over my garden wall and his . . . roommates . . . had to drag him back."

"He did _what?_"

"It is a long story, and I want to do it justice. We don't have time for it, we're almost there."

For the first time since feeding she looked around, saw the broad, looming form of Carfax impending over us like a sadistic governess, glaring down through the fog. The sight made me slightly homesick. "But we're near Carfax!"

"Yes."

"So he is your neighbor."

"Of sorts." I pointed through the thick, London fog at the asylum. "He lives in that white building over there . . . see it?"

"Oh," Lucy said, her voice becoming one note higher. "Well, all _I_ can see is Whitby Bay's insane asylum, and I know he can't possibly live _there_."

"Um . . . he can, actually."

"Is he a friend of Dr. Seward?" she asked, her voice slowly reaching a pitch only dogs would be able to hear.

"Not really, no."

"But he's not an inmate, right?"

"Uh-"

"You don't mean to say he's a _mental patient?_"

"Well . . . yes."

Lucy indignation was such that mere words could not express it. She uttered a parrotlike squawk and began to sputter and stutter. I caught the words "crazy," "can't believe," "what," and "thinking."

"He's interested in what we do, Lucy, is all. Come on. What have you got to do otherwise?"

Lucy scowled and sat down on one of the large decorative statues that were placed in front of Carfax's gate that proclaimed it a medieval heirloom. She folded her arms, the picture of childish defiance.

"Lucy," I said in exasperation. "I don't see why you're so opposed to this."

She folded her arms tighter and scowled deeper, which made her bear an uncanny resemblance to Katherina with wavier hair. "Ladies," she stated forcefully. "Do _not_ visit madmen." As she said this, she unconsciously crossed one leg over the other. This did not escape my notice.

"You don't mean to say you won't go because you're afraid he's going to _hurt you_," I replied incredulously.

Lucy hesitated, then shook her head.

"You do!" I burst out laughing.

"It's not funny!"

I wheezed myself back under control. "Yes it _is_, Lucy! What do you have to be afraid of in a mental patient? Loosing your _chastity_? Getting _overpowered_?" The idea itself was ridiculous. I had to lean against a tree to keep myself upright.

"I could!" Lucy insisted.

"No," I snickered. "It's not. Renfield- who, might I add, is in a _straightjacket_- has absolutely no chance of overpowering _you_. You could probably break his neck if you wanted to."

"Because I'm a vampire?"

"Yes, Lucy, because you're a vampire."

She chewed her lip. "But . . ." she started nervously. "I don't . . . feel . . . like a vampire. I feel the same as I always have. Shouldn't I be different now? I'm not even human any more. Why can't I feel that?"

"You have the bloodlust, of course."

"Well, apart from that."

I got down on my knees and took her hands. "Lucy, believe me if you do nothing else. There is nothing- _nothing_- that Renfield can conceivably do to hurt you."

"What if he tries?" she asked hesitantly.

"Then he will have brought it on himself."

Lucy chewed her lip.

"I'll be there," I suggested.

"Fine," she conceded. "But if anything happens, it will be your fault."

"Deal."

We made our way over to the white building, across the cobblestoned street. The contrast to Carfax- I never noticed this before- was stunning. Carfax was big, sprawling, filled with dark corners and hidden passage ways. The asylum was square, white, and logical. Lucy grimaced as she traced the bars on the windows.

I looked inside. The room, padded and white, appeared empty.

"Maybe he's not there?" Lucy suggested hopefully.

I was about to tell her it wasn't bloody likely, when Renfield, who had presumably been sitting under the window and thus directly out of view, popped up like a cork from a champagne bottle and started to bang his forehead on the glass. Lucy jumped three feet into the air, and I didn't really blame her. He was easily six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscled. She was more in the hundred-ten pound ballpark.

He was mouthing words, but I don't read lips well. I made a cut it out, gesture.

"You first, Lucy."

She put her hands against the window and held it there; when she let it drop, frustration laced her features. "I can't."

That fact had not escaped my notice. "What's stopping you?"

"Something. Nothing. I don't know."

"Okay, then. Lucy, _please_ go in." That counted as an invitation, right? I thought so.

"I just told you, I can't! It's like there's a brick wall here, or something."

"Try again."

She pressed on the glass again, only a little harder. "It's gone." She looked intrigued. "Weird! Is there something about saying 'please' that won't let me in a building?"

"Yes and no."

"Meaning?"

"You have to be _invited_ in to a private residence the first time, and then you can come and go as you please. Try and remember that, it's a lot like walking into a door if you try to get in and you haven't been invited."

"Neat!"

"No, not neat, it's a pain in the ass is what it is. Go in."

"How? Break the glass?"

"Oh . . . you don't know how to mist, do you? Hmm." I stuck my lower teeth out like a bulldog. How to explain.

"Mist?"

"Yes. You turn into fog. It's a very good trick for parties."

She didn't seem to find me funny; she looked fascinated. "How?"

"I'm trying to think of how to explain. I guess you just . . . picture . . . being . . . fog."

"That's all?"

"That's the long and short of it, I suppose. I haven't explained it in a long time, and it's pretty much automatic for _me_."

"Okay," said Lucy. She put her palms flat against the window and indeed concentrated so hard her face rumpled with it; it looked like someone was driving a very sharp pole into her foot. But in the moonlight, it was possible to see that her outline was blurring and that fine tendrils of smoke were rising off her skin, like a lake on a cold morning.

A breeze picked up and Lucy, who was nothing more than concentrated fog, was scattered. I saw a few tendrils of smoke slip through the window's frame and reform on the other side. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold herself together. Her dress blended into the wall like a chameleon.

Her mouth opened and I thought she was going to scream, but what came out was a whisper. "_That- was- so- awesome!_"

I laughed and came in myself. Renfield looked as if Christmas had come early.

"Master!" he cried, rocking back and forth. "She is a Creature- the Mistress is a Creature, like Master!"

I knew what he meant by "Mistress," but that word irritated me for some reason.

Lucy tightened her grip on my arm. Her nails were digging in, and it sort of hurt.

"Lucy, this is Renfield. Renfield, Lucy."

Renfield stretched his mouth into a grin so wide it flashed his molars and sat down, with some difficulty, on the end of the bed. "Master likes you, Mistress Lucy."

"Does he now."

He looked back at me. "Master chooses well. The Doctor is right to pine."

"The Doctor?" Lucy asked, coming out from behind me a bit. "Doctor Seward?"

"Yes," Renfield and I said in unison.

"Oh," she said. Her cheeks bloomed patchy red. "No, you're mistaken. Dr. Seward and I were never . . ." She trailed off.

"Nooooo," he breathed, drawing the word out. "Not for _you_."

His perception was surprising. I didn't think he had it in him.

Lucy was burning with shame beside me. I could feel her heat, but I didn't know why. When she spoke again, it was with trepidation. "Do you not like Dr. Seward?"

"_Noooooooooo_," Renfield repeated. "He is cruel. He pretends to help me . . . but he does not."

"Oh," said Lucy softly. She sat down next to Renfield and put her hand on his shoulder. It was strictly platonic, but I doubted Renfield was thinking in that direction. He got very, very still when she touched him, and his eyes got really, really big. I knew what was going on, and had to stop myself from yanking Lucy off and telling him to get ahold of himself. "I'm sorry."

Lucy, of course, noticed nothing.

"Yes," Renfield said, slightly louder and a little more impassioned. I cringed. "He _is_. He is _very_ cruel."

"Cruel?" Lucy asked. Her voice was low and could conceivably be seductive. "Why is that?"

"He- he promises things," Renfield continued, tripping all over himself. I wondered how hard it was going to be for him after Lucy left. He had no hands, after all. "Like a cat. And he didn't give it to me. And-"

"Uh, Lucy," I interrupted. "I don't mean to break this up, but we really should be going. Sorry, Renfield." He looked like a dog getting kicked out in the rain.

I grabbed Lucy's wrist and half-dragged her out the window.

"That was sudden," she said. "What happened?"

"You teasing Renfield happened."

Lucy blinked. "Tease him? I put my hand on his shoulder."

"You're young, pretty, and he lives in an insane asylum. You should have seen that coming."

"I didn't see anything of the sort," she insisted.

"Are you _blind?_ How did you not notice him- fancying- you?"

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me on this. If he could have gotten that straightjacket off, God help us all. Although," I added pensively. "I do have to wonder what he's going to do now, with his arms pinned like that . . ."

"_Ew!_"

**DarkPriestessofAssimbya brought something to my attention in my reviews. She asked me if I was operating by the "Count Vlad the Impaler" theory. No, I'm not. The real guy was just one of a few inspirations for the Count (along with Countess Elizabeth Barony- I think that's her name- who tortured and drank the blood of over three hundred servant girls in the hopes that she would grow younger and Bram Stoker's friend Sir Henry Irving, who was the personality basis). Anyway, the story isn't really historically accurate (Lucy would not have seen him without a chaperone, lest she be deemed "fallen" and the AARP? No) so don't be surprised. This is for entertainment purposes only, although if you get out a copy of the novel you'll notice the dialouge is the same.**

**Oh, and one other thing- my friend suggested his birthday be June 6th, 1306 because she thought the idea of his birth being on 6-6-06 was funny. No hidden messages there.**

**Thank you for listening to me ramble, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it comes along.**


	38. In Which Lucy Runs Into Some Old Friends

Lucy proved herself to be a good student. She didn't ask any more rebellious questions, just accepted her new lifestyle with as much as grace as I could have hoped for. Despite initial misgivings, she'd proved herself worthy to the task. England appeared none the wiser, which left us free to do as we pleased. 

Or so we thought.

When we returned to the graveyard September 26th, Lucy had not eaten yet, but she had the evening's prey- a little boy- held in her arms. The cemetery was shrouded in a heavy and rather spooky fog that veiled and bent the trees and tombstones into ominous shadows. There were the normal owl hoots and scuttling of the small and the dark, but that wasn't all the noise- there were voices in the graveyard, hushed, but there.

"It's certainly foggy here," Lucy said.

"_Shh_," I hissed, waving one hand. She fell silent with a startled look.

"_What?_" she whispered.

I strained to listen. "Someone's here."

Lucy made a small, catlike noise. She had already taken _don't be seen_ as her own personal dogma. Her hand found my wrist- it was like a giant ice cube. "Arsonists? Children?"

I picked out more of the words. They seemed to be coming from the back-left corner of the cemetery, which was were her mausoleum was. "A key is nothing," the unknown- or one of, it sounded like- was saying softly to the other. "There are many duplicates, and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of this kind."

"_I don't think so._"

"_What do we do?_"

"_It depends. Come on._" We moved in a wide circled around the mausoleum, cutting through the fog and growing closer each time. The fog blurred all shapes beyond recognition; I felt like a ghost trying to be part of the living. It was a mildly depressing feeling, but I got over it.

The old stone crypt came into view through the trees. Our eyesight was good enough to pick out the two men in front of the entrance, talking softly to each other. I recognized them quickly- Van Helsing was buttoned to his throat in a wool jacket, toying with a small gold crucifix, and standing rigid and impassive. His eyes scanned the trees. His acolyte was the man with the high forehead and the bushy mustache who had stayed up with Lucy a couple nights. He was sitting with his back to the door, staring at the sky and looking as if he'd like nothing better than to be in his own warm bed.

Lucy had obviously made the connection as well. She gasped softly in surprise and leaned on me as if her legs had given out.

"_What_?" I murmured, getting level with her ear in order to speak as quietly as I could.

She turned her head to whisper into my ear, "It's _Van Helsing and Dr. Seward!_"

So that was the infamous Dr. Seward. He didn't look like much to me. But the first fingers of daybreak were filtering through the treetops, and Lucy needed to get to her crypt, and quickly.

"_Lucy, you have to make a run for it._"

She turned her wide, frightened eyes on me, like twin pools. "_What?_"

I nodded upward. She followed my gaze. "_Quickly._"

"_They'll see me!_"

"_Move fast- as fast as you can. There's a small window in the back. Go in through there. Now!_"

Lucy bit her lip, and then she was gone, leaving a white aftereffect on my eyes. I heard a small _thump_ as she dropped the child halfway there, and I moved away from it hastily. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward evidently heard it as well; both rose and came toward it, stumbling in the early morning light and dark. The former found it, while I shied away and watched from afar, and led the latter away toward the gates. I followed at some distance, listening.

There was a soft _tsch_, a match being lit. And then, "Was I right?" Smug-sounding. Cocky.

"We were there just in time."


	39. In Which She Realizes Their Intentions

Lucy, for all my earlier misgivings, was a good student. Or at least she gave good attempts. As all Fledglings will, she screwed up sometimes. But for the most part, she adjusted to her new life with surprising ease and asked intelligent questions that I would not have credited her with had I not been the one she was asking. First Harker, now Lucy. I was misjudging these British people. 

When I scraped the coffin lid open the day after our little run-in, Lucy wasn't awake, as she usually was, and eager to get out and get started on whatever we were doing that evening. Tonight she was still asleep with her arms crossed over her chest and her chin up. As I looked at her, surprised, her eyelids flickered, and before I really had made the connection that she was looking at me from under her eyelashes, her eyes opened fully and she got out like she'd touched a live wire.

"What was that all about?"

Lucy looked up at me, looking nervous. "I didn't-" she began. "I didn't know if it was you or Dr. Van Helsing again." She swallowed deeply. "I thought he was looking in on me again."

"Looking in on you?" Wait, what?

"He and Dr. Seward came in," she said, her voice becoming increasingly squeaky at what I'm sure was a very threatening expression on my face. "This afternoon. They opened the coffin and talked over me."

My blood was getting continually colder. I had to bite back a snarl as I asked her, "What were they talking about?"

"M-me," Lucy answered. I must have had an expression she found frightening or otherwise discouraging. She sounded close to tears. "They said something about me being here and being pr-preserved, and a few other things, but I don't remember exactly."

God damn them! I had won her already, perfectly fair, had triumphed over all their efforts, and now they were trying to take _my_ Fledgling. They were serious about it, I thought, but that was fine . . . so was I. Let's see who wins her, goddamnit.

"Did they say anything else?"

Lucy looked up at me through her eyelashes. "No," she said softly in a tone that left no doubt that they had said something else, something that she didn't want to share. "Nothing else."

"Nothing at all."

"No," she said in a slightly louder voice, swallowing. Her fingers threaded themselves through mine. "It was nothing, I'm sure."

I tried to wheedle out what they had said from her for the rest of the night, but she told me nothing, and with each word she did not say, my own dread intensified. The less she told me, the clearer it became- they wanted _her_, and that meant war.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 29th, their intentions came into the open.

I had started treading softly when returning into the cemetery, and she had started following my lead. Again, we had a child on our hands, unbitten, untouched. We had fallen into the habit of biting them at the cemetery, to avoid midnight wanderers.

"Can I eat now?" she asked softly.

"Knock yourself out. Just be tidy about it." She obliged. Her eating habits had gotten considerably cleaner since her turning- it was dead convenient.

I looked around the graveyard aimlessly, and my eyes focused on her mausoleum. It had people around it- Van Helsing and Dr. Seward, I noticed right off the bat, and second- with a burn of fury, Jonathan Harker (and had he changed! His hair had turned almost completely silver. I felt a rush of pride for my Brides), and two other men I didn't recognize, one tall and slim and tawny, the other shorter and thicker and copper-haired. All of them were dressed in dark clothes, blending in with the night. It occurred to me suddenly that they could see Lucy, in her blindingly white dress, and they couldn't see me.

I was _really_ going to have to get Lucy some black clothing soon.

I dug my elbow into her side, and she made a sharp little noise. "_What_?"

"_Lucy, they're here! They can see you!_"

She started to look. I pressed my elbow harder into her side. "_Don't look!_"

Lucy sucked in her breath, and one hand found my wrist and dug its nails into my skin. It hurt. "_What do we do?_"

I glanced at them. They were squinting in our direction, though the heavy fog, but their eyes were focused on her, not me. "_Well, we have to get rid of them_." Her hand tightened, and I tried to think. Get rid of them for now- I could deal with them later, in daylight if need be. Just for now.

What was it that would worry these men more than anything else? What would make Lucy different from the ladies they had already known their whole lives, what might convince them that they had to leave?

Bingo.

"_Lucy_," I said softly in her ear. "_Do you think you can_ . . ." How to put this? "_Act sexy?_"

She widened her eyes at me, startled. "_What?_"

"_Act like you want them to come to you. Trust me on this, please?_"

"_I don't- I don't know how to act like that!_"

God. Of course she didn't; weren't these British women supposed to be entirely sexless? The Brides would know what to do. "_Haven't you ever seen a whore?_"

"_Well- once-_"

"_Then act like that_." I pushed her forward.

_Please, please, let it work. _

She froze for a second, ruby blood glistening on her lips, and because she was so distracted, running into a stream down her cleavage. She recoiled like a snake, pulling her lips back into a grimace. Her crimson eyes swept past the whole group, frozen with surprise. She clutched the child to her chest as if afraid they would take it from her.

And then Lucy's face broke into a smile. Her whole body seemed to relax, and she dropped the little boy to the floor beside her. She held her arms out toward the men. I was impressed; England was either missing the world's greatest actress or the world's best prostitute. Or possibly both. I saw her swallow once and proceed with, "Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!"

Wow, that didn't sound like the Lucy I knew. At all. Maybe she was selling herself a little on the side.

And Arthur- or I suppose it was him, the tawny-haired one- bought it, too. He swayed where he stood, his arms out and wide and took a trembling step forward. He had been in front of the door like the others, but he left an opening behind him. I saw it, and Lucy did too; her stance shifted into a crouch, and she prepared to jump for it.

She lunged, and Van Helsing stepped smoothly in her way. For a second I couldn't understand why he was so blasé about a vampire plunging directly at him, and in the next I understood; his arm swung up, dangling a small golden cross. Lucy ducked under his arm and to the door. For a moment I thought she would get in, but she didn't, instead turned around, pressing her back to it. The look on her face was fear and rage woven into one.

The others cringed, pulling Arthur away from her, but Van Helsing stayed strong, holding the little cross up and keeping her trapped like an animal against the door. He reached out carefully- Lucy's eyes followed him, wolflike- and pulled something out of the crack between the wall and the door. I saw her pupils dilate and she misted through faster than I have ever seen.

I went around and through the back window. Lucy leaned against the stone wall, and put her face in her hands. Her shoulders trembled. I sat next to her.

As usual, she offered without my asking. "They w-want me d-dead!"

I bit my lip hesitantly, and nodded. "Yes. They do."

She took her face out of her hands and leaned it on my shoulder. "They shouldn't," she mumbled into the cloth.

"No," I agreed, and smiled a little. "But they're gone for now. Don't worry. I won't let them hurt you."

"Okay," she said softly.

"By the way, where did you get that 'come to me' phrasing? It doesn't sound like anything I've heard you say before."

Lucy let out a watery laugh and raised her eyes up to mine. "It was in a book I read once."

I raised an eyebrow. "But surely the virginal, English ladies aren't reading such things."

She blushed. "Well, it was in Arthur's library when I went over once."

I smirked. "Say no more."

She laugh-sighed and put her face on my shoulder again. "You promise to protect me?"

"Yes. Always."

**The end is near. –Cries—Too bad. I ended up liking Lucy a lot more than I did when I went in (in my mind, she went from "airhead" to "insecure and looking for attention and affection."). Kind of a character metamorphoses, I suppose. I bet the same thing happens to Mina, though, so I bet that'll be interesting. **


	40. In Which Our Relationship Hits a Snag

So it was under _my_ genius advice that we laid low- well, I did, but you'll see why later- for the next couple of days. If you missed the bitter sarcasm there, something is wrong with you. 

I hid out in Carfax's deep, cavelike depths. Slept, most of the time. That, and cleaned. I have a bad- or good, actually, depending on how you look at it- habit of cleaning obsessively when I have nothing else to do. So I waited. I thought about Lucy, too, wondered how she was holding up, being confined to her mausoleum.

After forty-eight or so hours of this, I decided that we'd laid low long enough. If Van Helsing and his minions had been waiting, this ought to have shaken them off the trail.

I misted through the door carefully on the evening of the 30th. The reason for my caution was that Lucy was a young vampire, and hadn't eaten in a long time, and the youngest ones (or some not-so-young ones, Katherina is still in the "if I'm hungry and it moves, _bite it_" frame of mind) are liable to attack anything when they get sufficiently hungry. But I got in, and nothing greeted me. Besides the smell.

It smelled like blood in there. God, it was worse than a slaughterhouse. The small, stone room absolutely reeked of it, and not the mortal blood I was used to smelling. It was vampire blood. If you don't think I can make that distinction by sense of smell alone, _trust_ me, I really can. There is a major difference.

Gooseflesh pricked along my arms, and I knew, even before I saw, what had happened.

I ripped the coffin lid off.

Lucy was dead, grotesque, gory death. There was no way around it. She had been staked directly into her heart so heavily that blood had actually painted all the walls and the underside of the coffin lid a congealed, ruby vermillion. There was a deep gash in her throat, literally so deep it stopped at her spinal chord, that left her head titled back at a bizarre, unnatural angle. As if this was not enough, her jaw had been pried open and, between the white teeth, was a clove of garlic. Her eyes were left open and staring off blankly. Her hands were still clenched into fists so tight her tendons stood out along her arms.

Oh . . . my . . . God.

I stared at her as a small fly flitted in circles, buzzing, and landed on one blood-splattered blonde curl. That did it.

_Lucy Westenra is now officially dead. Holy hell_.

I put the coffin lid back on her, screwed it carefully in place, and went back to the door, but I didn't leave. To the contrary, I seated myself with my back to the door, pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, and set very still. From this vantage point I could easily enough see the moon outside, passing across the sky and marking time.

Easy enough to wait, so that was all I did.


	41. In Which It is ON!

I went home a little while before sunrise and got very little sleep. Whether this was not-too-unreasonable paranoia or guilt over pretty much screwing Lucy over, I wasn't really sure, but it was probably a mixture of both. 

It didn't matter terribly, though. I knew who I was dealing with. A group of proper English boys who lacked any actual knowledge of what they were trying to do, lead by someone who had only the faintest ideas. I knew how I could find these people, and I knew what to do when they had been found. And god knew, they were not going to like it.

I fell asleep.

I got up early the next day, at four or so, and what better to do with extra time than start planning? I didn't know where I could find Arthur and Van Helsing and Quincy Morris, but Dr. Seward would be in the insane asylum he ran, and the quickest way there was through Renfield, who, as luck would have it, I had already befriended.

I was planning on espionage, to be truthful, via flapping around windows and looking in. Even when one can turn into a mist, it's important to have some idea just what the hell you're doing, since hearing and seeing are somewhat difficult. I put the plan into action as prematurely as possible, at dusk, when there were plenty of bats pinwheeling in the London skies. Good cover. I lit on one of the windows.

They were all there- Van Helsing, Arthur, Dr. Seward, Morris, and- I noted this with a sudden rush of irritation for their vitality- Mina and her husband, side-by-side. All were stony-faced, serious, talking quietly. I listened. They were talking about me. It was somewhat startling to hear, even if I _had_ been expecting it.

Van Helsing was asking if the group assembled in front of him wanted to fight, but he was asking it in such a long-winded and roundabout way that it was rather difficult to keep focus. He did actually get to the question itself eventually, and the acolytes nodded and voiced their agreement. To make a pact- I suppose- they joined hands for a minute, holding on tightly to one another, before releasing themselves and drifting back to their original places.

That done, Van Helsing went on to talk for what felt like forever (as said by an immortal- he had much to say) about vampires' strength and weaknesses, humans' strengths and weaknesses, et cetera. My attention ebbed on this part. There was nothing he was saying, after all, that I did not know already. He did mention the Brides once, though, which snapped me back partway, only he referred to them as "sisters." I got some humor out of that.

I also noted that he mentioned the wild rose, "sacred bullet," and mountain ash, which is misinformation. I pictured that scene for a moment, being afraid of a flower. It was almost painfully comical.

The red-haired man sitting to Arthur's right- Morris- had his chin in his hands, and his eyes wandered across the room as he listened, eventually making his way towards the window, where I was perched in a very un-bat-like fashion. He looked at me for a moment, looking mildly glazed, and then he stood up and left the room. That probably should have been my tip off right there- however, I was more interested in listening to what Van Helsing had to say to pay too much attention. I assumed he was going the lavatory or something along those lines.

I turned my attention back to Van Helsing, who was now going on about coffins with earth in them.

From somewhere to my right was a loud, jarring _bang_, and approximately two seconds later something small, sharp, and very hot shot past my left wing so closely that I felt its wind and heat. The window I had been sitting against shattered into airborne shrapnel as the bullet went through it, making it seem (at this range) that the world itself had exploded. The automatic jerk back from this was what ripped me off the window sill and sent me back into the cool night air, the surprise of it dizzying and left me, disconcerted, flitting off into the black, overgrown depths of Carfax again.

Van Helsing's long, dragging speeches had taken time from six in the afternoon to just a little after midnight. I blinked at the passage. Good lord, the man did tend to wax on, didn't he?

But they were at their little corner now, and I was at mine. Being shot away from the window had not been too much of a blow, since this seemed to be the meeting where they established the basics of vampirism, and I highly doubted they would leave, which meant: Strategy Time!

I noted in my head- which is where I keep everything of true importance- that there were Morris, Arthur, Van Helsing, Harker, Seward, and Mina. If I had to kill anyone in that group, it would probably be Mina. The men had angled themselves around her like planets in orbit, apologized for offending or frightening her, like she was some kind of fragile stuffed animal and not a human as much as they. It seemed a little bizarre, seeing as fragile women was the antithesis of pretty much all of my experience. Van Helsing would be second best, but the men were currently acquiring all of his vampire knowledge, which did lesson his value a bit.

During this, I was seating in at the ancient oak table in the dining room, through which I had a clear view of the front door and the back door. It was from here that I was first alerted to visitors by the rattling of the doorknob, and from here that I decided to wait and ambush.

Outside, the visitors- who I now recognized as Van Helsing and his acolytes, damn them- were talking. It sounded like it might have been Dr. Seward, or else Arthur. Without the smug demeanor, it was hard to tell. "I don't know but that I agree with you. If that man had been an ordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting him, but he seems so mixed up with the Count in an indexy kind of way that I am afraid of doing anything wrong by helping his fads. I can't forget how he prayed with almost equal fervor for a cat, and then tried to tear my throat out with his teeth. Besides, he called the Count lord and master', and he may want to get out to help him in some diabolical way. That horrid thing has the wolves and the rats and his own kind to help him, so I suppose he isn't above trying to use a respectable lunatic. He certainly did seem earnest, though. I only hope we have done what is best. These things, in conjunction with the wild work we have in hand, help to unnerve a man."

Oh yeah, that was Seward.

"Friend John, have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad and terrible case, we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity of the good God?"

"That old place may be full of rats, and if so, I've got an antidote on call."

"My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we need arms of many kinds. Our enemy is not merely spiritual. Remember that he has the strength of twenty men, and that, though our necks or our windpipes are of the common kind, and therefore breakable or crushable, his are not amenable to mere strength." A little credit, finally, _thank_ you. "A stronger man, or a body of men more strong in all than him, can at certain times hold him, but they cannot hurt him as we can be hurt by him. We must, therefore, guard ourselves from his touch. Keep this near your heart, put these flowers round your neck, for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this knife, and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you can fasten to your breast, and for all, and above all at the last, this, which we must not desecrate needless."

It would have been nice if he'd announced what his last package was, as he had the others, but that would have been a little irritating at the easiness of it. Alas.

"Now," he said, "friend John, where are the skeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break house by the window, as before at Miss Lucy's."

I waited patiently as the door rattled with the unmistakable sound of keys in a lock. The old doors opened with a creak like that of an old, sick dog, revealing the huddled mass of Englishmen in its opening, holding together as if trying to fight off the innate chilliness of Carfax. How pathetically cute; the house was forty degrees or so, and that was livable. Humans.

"_In manus, tuas, Domine!_" one of them said, crossing himself and strolling into the inky depths as if this was no more troubling to him than going to get a gallon of milk. I recognized it as Van Helsing, mostly because of the salt-and-pepper hair and by the way the others followed him, however hesitantly. Together, they lit their lamps.

Even though I couldn't see their faces, I could discern hair color and derive identities by it. Helsing, Morris, Harker, Holmnwood, Seward. Mina was missing, and that, for some bizarre reason, irritated me beyond belief. It was probably the English ideals that a woman was- or ought to be- helpless and innocent that got me so annoyed. After all, all the women I had ever known could take care of themselves, so why not these?

They stuck as closely as a group of children sneaking into the local haunted house by midnight, stirring up small flurries of dust and throwing long, black shadows. The small fires in their lanterns seemed to bob, unsupported, in the gloom as the pack made its way to the table I had been sitting at approximately three minutes ago. Keys I had left there from a few days- or weeks?- ago were still residing there, although considerably dustier than when I had set them down. The head I had decided was Van Helsing came forward and lifted them as gingerly as if he expected them to attack him

_Of all the things that bite in this house, I think the keys ought to be the least of your worries_.

For some reason, this made me think of a riddle: _What has teeth but cannot bite?_

"You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you know it at least more than we do," Van Helsing said, turning back to the group. "Which is the way to the chapel?"

The one I discovered was Harker nodded- or I think he did, it was hard to tell- stepped around the Professor and began to lead the way. I followed them as surreptitiously as possible, essentially a spider on the far-above ceiling. I was becoming more and more convinced that this was a really awesome hiding spot.

Although, now that I thought about it, if any of them thought to look _up_, I was kind of screwed.

After some bumbling, they did eventually fin the door to the room where I was keeping some of my coffins- having sent for some to be on their merry way. Van Helsing pronounced it correct and keyed it open. I waited.

The second the door was open, every one of them pulled back, threw their arms up against their faces, and coughed as though they had just walked into a room where a bomb had been activated as opposed to a room that was filled with mold and earth. I rolled my eyes at this. Admittedly, it wasn't a terribly _pleasant _smell, but it was certainly bearable.

After a few more minutes of theatrics, they headed in, breathing heavily through their mouths. I followed with some difficulties, seeing as I had to go down and over the top of a very low door, but I misted in slowly, and it worked out easily enough. They counted the coffins, twenty-nine in all, and proceeded to examine the whole room with the meticulous detail I had generally known to come from those suffering obsessive-compulsive disorder. I suppose they wanted to know if I had, I don't know, hidden some sort of medieval torture device in the shadows.

I was partially solidifying (it's kind of hard to get an accurate idea of what's happening when you're little more than particles of water vapor), just enough to get a good idea of what was going on. Because I wanted to be on a lower level, closer to any action there might be, I was a little higher than the men I was observing. This would have worked perfectly if the man with tawny hair- Arthur, I think- had not turned around and stared right at me.

I wasn't sure if he'd seen me or not, and apparently he wasn't either; he blinked several times, pupils dilating until they swallowed his pale blue irises, and furrowed his eyebrows. Harker was the first to notice Arthur's sudden involvement with staring at a wall, and it was about at this point I thought it would be unwise to stay half-solid like I was.

Arthur frowned, eyes still whirring, and he said to Harker, without breaking his gaze, "I thought I saw a face, but it was only the shadows." He turned slowly back away from me, but he glanced over his shoulder with clear unease.

I decided that now would be a really good time for a distraction.

"_Yahh!_"

The red-haired American, who had been poking around in one of the corners, let out a yell of surprise and leapt backwards as if he had accidentally touched a white-hot iron. The whole group turned as one, and they all drew back as once as the small gleaming eyes and the rounded, squirming bodies of Carfax's potent rat population awoke and crawled out of the walls and floor like living smoke.

The living mass of squealing, wriggling rats struggled their way toward the group of Englishmen, who seemed frozen, appalled. Arthur, like the rest of them, stood transfixed, but after a second he snapped out of it and bolted for the door, frantically clawing back locks- why had the idiots locked themselves in?- until the door gave out and opened. The instant the squeaking of ancient hinges reached his comrades' ears, the trace they had forced on themselves broke, and they lunged for the opening as well. The rats were now well into the thousands, coating the walls like a very thick, very loud layer of paint.

Arthur ripped something out of his collar. A whistle, small and silver, on the end of a chain. He lifted it to his mouth and blew on it once, and the response was unmistakable; from somewhere outside Carfax's gloomy chambers, several dogs began to bark, and, judging by the sound, come running. An instant later, three dogs- terriers or something like that, I have never been particularly enthralled by dogs- came skittering up to the door. Whatever bravado had kept them going up until then gave out once their paws reached the doorjamb, leaving them skidding and howling in fear.

Arthur reached down, picked up the first dog and lifted it over said doorjamb. Almost immediately, it regained its courage and leapt, snarling, at the squealing horde of rats. The same was true of the other two dogs, and the rats, not being stupid, got the message. By the time the rats had wriggled their way back into the walls and floor, no more than twelve or so, out of the thousands that had come out, lay actually dead.

This appeared to help them breathe easier. The bastards.

After this, all of them seemed to breathe easier, dogs included, and clearly lighter-hearted, they proceeded to poke around the rest of the house with me in tow like an overlarge spider. They took their leave as dawn was breaking, which seemed a little backward to me, but hey. I listened in as they left.

"So far, our night has been eminently successful. No harm has come to us such as I feared might be and yet we have ascertained how many boxes are missing. More than all do I rejoice that this, our first, and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous, step has been accomplished without the bringing thereinto our most sweet Madam Mina or troubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and sounds and smells of horror which she might never forget. One lesson, too, we have learned, if it be allowable to argue a particulari, that the brute beasts which are to the Count's command are yet themselves not amenable to his spiritual power, for look, these rats that would come to his call, just as from his castle top he summon the wolves to your going and to that poor mother's cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mell from the so little dogs of my friend Arthur. We have other matters before us, other dangers, other fears, and that monster . . . He has not used his power over the brute world for the only or the last time tonight. So be it that he has gone elsewhere. Good! It has given us opportunity to cry check'in some ways in this chess game, which we play for the stake of human souls. And now let us go home. The dawn is close at hand, and we have reason to be content with our first night's work. It may be ordained that we have many nights and days to follow, if full of peril, but we must go on, and from no danger shall we shrink."

I rolled my eyes. His words didn't mean anything to me; they were the sort of empty words used to stir men to action without actual promises. "From no danger shall we shrink" might fill his band with warm, fuzzy, self-righteous feelings, but they lacked reality.

I climbed down from the wall, flexing my hands, which had started cramping up. So they had taken their step, and it was unavoidable now. War. The only question was what kind of blow I could strike, and how badly I would receive in return.

It seemed like I ought to bite someone, that it was only fitting, but something made me think that was a bad idea. Half-formulated plans swirled like smoke from a campfire in my head, one more insistent than the others, but it seemed like it wouldn't work out for me, and I pushed it away.

It was pushy, though, and I eventually allowed it to come in and roost.

Mina. Even for the one time we'd met formally, I'd say we didn't exactly hit it off- quite the opposite, actually- and I highly doubted our relationship would improve with her having known what had happened to Lucy and her husband. The plan in question centered mainly around her, or about removing her from the grasp of those idiots she insisted on running around with.

As far a plan went, it kind of sucked. For one thing, turning her would take time- more time than was reasonable, really- and if the turning was preformed vigilantly, she would likely have a full recovery. For another, Mina drove me nuts. I really, _really_ didn't want to have her around for the next century.

But then again, there were ways- difficult and painful and messy, but existing nevertheless- to turn someone quickly, and it wasn't as if I had to keep her around once she turned. Actually, it would be better to set her loose on her friends and let her have her way.

What did I have to lose by biting her? Only time, but time that would allow my enemies to plot. But their plots amounted to nothing if I could avoid them, which I was fairly sure I could. If I kept out of their reach long enough to formulate a plan of my own and implement it, the fact that they had had extra time was null and void.

So many choices, and a decision had to be made _now_.

I went and sat down in the dining room chair, pulled my knees up to my chest, draped my arms around them, and closed my eyes. It was comforting, this dark and quiet. Very soothing, I thought, and conductive to thinking.

When I opened my eyes, I had arrived at an answer. Mina was the key, the door, the way in.

I sighed. _I have a long day ahead of me_.

**And then all hell breaks loose. Smooth move on his part, I think.**


	42. In Which I Act on My Decisions

It certainly was _white_ here. 

I was in the insane asylum, having come in through Renfield's- who was sprawled on his bed, sleeping fitfully- window and going under his door. I had never been outside his room before now, and it seemed like a good time to start. I began to tour, treading carefully in case I woke up one of the hunters, and amassing a mental database of every door, window, and closet that might be of use to me in the future.

The bottom floor was entirely asylum. It was square and logical, the hallways intersecting as if on a grid, built to be as calming as a dose of sedative to the warped mind of a lunatic.

God, it was _boring_.

The upstairs was a flat containing a living room, where the meeting had assembled. Harker was asleep on the couch, covered by a thin blanket, and it was incredibly painful not to act on seeing him, but I choked it back. There would be plenty of time for beating down on him once I was in a position of power, and right now, I really wasn't.

Off the parlor was a small kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. The first one I looked in had Dr. Seward tangled up in sheets. Okay, nothing to see there. I checked the other bedroom.

Ah, Mina.

She _was _pretty. I hadn't really noticed before, being so focused on Lucy, but she really was. Her hair wasn't as dark now, more coppery than brown, but that suited her olive complexion. She looked thoroughly exhausted, her pale skin marked with dark shadows beneath her eyes, and not really calmed, even in sleep. She looked like she was worrying in her dreams. I wondered if it was over me or something else. Probably me.

She also tasted nice. Like dark chocolate.

I went back out through the back door, which I had to force, and had to begin to move the boxes I had left. There was no chance in hell of the damn Englishmen getting them, not if I had my say in it. That meant getting a set of keys- keys I probably have been carrying on my person, I think- from a few other business men I'd had to contact in order to move. I hated them equally. First off was Thomas Snelling, of Bethnal Green, but his was no problem- he was drinking quite heavily when I came over. The second was, Joseph Smollet, the man who was an assistant in moving the boxes.

When I showed up, unannounced on his doorstep, he was reading the newspaper and enjoying a cup of tea. "Woy, 'ello, suh. Din 'spect you'd come around."

"I need help moving boxes, if you would be so kind."

"Nah tat all, nah tat all." He went to inform someone he was leaving while I waited on the doorstep, then came out with me and put on his coat. "Sao, where're thoise bahxes 'eaded?"

I had already scouted out several empty homes in which to place the coffins. I had a list in my pocket, but there was no need to pull it out, having committed it to memory. "197 Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey."

"Olrighty. Come 'long, then." We did indeed "come along." I followed him into his carriage, considered biting him, and decided not to. "Thoise your 'ouses?"

"Not necessarily."

"Ah, friends?"

"No." No friends here. Or not any that were not regularly restrained.

"Family?"

"No."

"So yoir just movin them there?"

"Yes."

"Oh." And that was about it for small talk. I can kill a conversation in remarkably short time. What can I say? It's a gift.

We got to Carfax and started loading boxes onto the back of the poor horse's cart; Mr. Smollet, who was not a quick learner, tried to initiate conversation again. "M' son juss toined five, yeh know."

"That's wonderful," I said, in the way that actually means "Pick up the damn box."

He didn't take the hint. Boredom with hearing about his children (I don't like children. They're too stringy) made me speed up the process my "forgetting" that I couldn't lift much more than he could. This display of strength greatly dwarfed his own, and he was no chicken, either.

We delivered the coffins, with him attempting to chat, and me curtly stomping his every attempt to death.

"Al'ight. Noice doin business wi' you, suh."

"Thank you." I forced this out through my teeth and nearly choked on it. "Have a good day."

Night began to fall, so I circled back to Carfax and from there to the insane asylum. Mina and Harker and Seward were upstairs- the rest, as before, had gone back to their own homes for the evening. I made a mental note to get the addresses for these homes and get someone to invite me in. If I had to spring Renfield and have him do it, so be it.

Speaking of Renfield, I went and saw him again that evening. He wasn't nearly as excited to see me as before; to the contrary, he looked ill. He was lying on his bed when I came in, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. He looked horribly pale, waxy almost, and his already-overlarge silver eyes looked vacantly at nothing from above dark shadows. He looked like he had nothing to live for, which, when you spend your life in a five-by-five-by-nine foot room, you really don't.

"Good evening, Renfield."

He mumbled something and didn't look at me.

Pause. "Renfield . . . ?"

"Hello, Master," he said, with a dull learned-by-heart sort of tone. I looked at him for a few minutes, trying to decide whether or not I should prod him until he told me what was wrong with him, or leave it be and assume he'd be fine. Because touchy-feely type things make me kind of uncomfortable, I chose the latter. That was, in hindsight, not a good idea.

I bit Mina again. However, this time, I noticed her diary¸ and as I had done with Lucy, removed all parts pertaining to me. I have obtained a copy of the novel that is my namesake in the time since, and I've found I missed some, but that's okay.

I spent the next day in Piccadilly, returning to Carfax only at twilight, and from their heading to the asylum, which was when all hell broke loose. Literally.

**I think we all know what's coming. The scene that is the basis for every D./Mina slash fiction (or movie. Isn't that pretty much what the movie "Bram Stoker's Dracula" is all about?) Trust me, I'm writing as fast as humanly possible, so please don't kill me for leaving a cliff-hanger.**


	43. In Which Renfield's Alliance Changes

I misted through Renfield's window when it was well past sunset. If you have any idea what's going to happen here, you have probably assumed that I came in locked and loaded. I didn't. I was planning on a _quiet_ biting. No big deal- nothing to worry about. 

Yeah, it didn't turn out that way.

Being a mist, while it completely eliminates needing to open or close those ever-so-pesky doors and windows, is kind of vulnerable as well. As I've said before, it's very hard to get a clear idea of what is going on, but beyond that, you're essentially at the mercy of the environment. People and animals, walking through you, wind, rain, all of that can scatter you and get you hopelessly lost.

I offer this tidbit of knowledge for reasons which will become clear.

As I was coming into the room, Renfield, who had been sitting on his bed, leapt up and began to flail around in a manner that brought to mind the electric chair, and sending bits of me swirling around. It was, needless to say, not on my radar, and it made me hopelessly dizzy.

I solidified. The room was spinning, and not in a pleasant way. I had to close my eyes and lean against the wall for a few seconds in order to still the world, and when I opened them again, Renfield had his large hands wrapped around the front of my shirt. He glared at me with open loathing.

It was a surprising turn of events. I blinked at him. "I hate to ask, Renfield," I began, completely nonplussed. "But what are you doing?"

"You aren't touching her!" he yelled.

"Touching who?" The only one I was currently biting was Mina, and as far as I knew, they had never so much as met. "Mina?"

"Yes!"

I tried to think what stock Renfield would have in her. "She put her hand on your shoulder, did she?"

Renfield shook his head emphatically. "She came for me. She _asked_ for me."

"Renfield, she's married."

His only response was to glare at me,

I sighed and unknotted his hands from my shirt. "Move."

"NO!"

I put my hands on his chest and pushed him back a little. "I don't want to hurt you, Renfield, I really don't, but if I have to force you off, you'll get injured."

He let go of me.

"Thank y-"

_WHACK!_

His fist came up out of the side and collided with the base of my jaw on the left side. I blinked and staggered a little, but more out of surprise than pain, and when I got my eyes back under my conscious control again, I saw Renfield in a fighting stance, cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly. So he was serious.

The air took on a strange reddish tinge. I felt my breath in my chest like I never had; it burned as if I had just taken a big drink of something boiling on a cold day.

His fist came back up again and started to move toward me again, and my hand shot up, closed around his, and pulled with all of my might. He didn't just loose his balance; with a _crack_ like a gunshot, he literally came off the ground, sailed over my shoulder, hit the wall behind me, and slid to the ground in a crumpled heap. I prowled up to him, breathing heavily.

At first I thought he was unconscious, until his eyes opened, and he moaned and slowly reached to cradle his right arm, which was bent at an angle that left to doubt to the mind that it was broken. He shifted a little, favoring it, and, forcing his feet under him, began to stand. His legs were shaky, and he had to lean against the wall, but he was standing nevertheless.

Jesus.

"You're not hurting her!" he choked out.

"This from the man who was so gung ho about vampirism?" I shook my head and went for the door. "Good luck with your arm."

Renfield ran at me, his arm, his pain, his everything forgotten, and for the first time, really, I got a true glimpse at why Dr. Seward had opted to keep him in a straightjacket. Eating flies was worth nothing compared to this madness. He leapt for me with every ounce of gusto his body contained, snarling, and when I flung one arm up, he sunk his teeth into it and shook his head, worrying my arm like a dog worries a bone.

Hot, irrational fury ripped through me. How dare he? He had asked to become a vampire, had begged, had coveted Lucy, had gone over my garden wall, and had been a large inconvenience up until now. God _damn_ him!

My hands grabbed the front of his shirt, lifted him until the top of his head bumped the ceiling.

And threw him down.

_CRACK!_

Renfield stopped moving.


	44. In Which Mina Gets Some Face Time

I left, actually growling to myself, and let myself into Mina's room, still fuming. The slimy, two-faced bastard. Grrrrrr. 

The room was small and consisted of a bed just large enough for two people to be on and not fall off and a small desk. Mina was asleep in the bed. Jonathan was asleep at the desk, his head on his arms. I was just thinking that the religious, no-sex prudes would have an absolute field day with this, when Harker muttered something and stirred a little. I raised one hand, quite prepared to beat him onto a large smear on the table, when he went back to sleep on his own.

I put my hand down with a feeling very much akin to that of a small child being denied candy.

"Wha- "

_Shit, shit, shit_.

I turned around. Mina, who had been comatose three seconds ago, was waking up. She was still in the confused stage of waking, but that was fading fast. She sat up slowly, her eyes squinting, and her dark hair in her face.

"Who are you?" she asked.

I cleared my throat. "Evening, Mina."

She woke up pretty fast then, and quite literally jumped a foot. I never thought people actually "jumped" until that moment, but she did. It would have been comical under different circumstances.

Her eyes were too large in her head. They looked like large chucks of jade, glinting with surprise and fear in the moonlight. Her chest rose and fell quickly in her flowy white nightgown.

"What are you doing here?" Even scared out of her wits like she was, her voice was steady and cool- actually, "frigid" might be better; I think I felt the temperature drop a few degrees when she spoke. If looks could kill, I would probably have been crucified.

I gave her the "duh" sort of look. "You really don't know, huh?"

She scooted back a bit, pressing herself against the headboard. "No."

I was forcefully reminded of Renfield.

"No," she said, louder. "I know what you did to Lucy. You killed her. You _damned _her."

"Not to split hairs or anything," I pointed out. "But it was actually _your_ crew that did the killing and the damnation. Lucy was pleasant with me. She was a nice girl, but certainly a nicer vampire. I think it was the dress."

"You murdered her," Mina repeated softly. "She is dead because of you."

"Well, that part's true."

"And now you want to do the same thing to me," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Did you miss the bite marks on your throat?" I asked, genuinely intrigued by this prospect. "Did you _really?_"

"Yes," she said.

"Good grief. And those men you hold company with- they missed it too? _After_ the _exact_ same thing happened to Lucy?" I didn't wait for an answer, just pressed the heel of my hand to my hairline. "Honestly, anyone that dense doesn't really deserve to live."

"And me?" Mina asked. Her voice was a little stronger now. "Where am I included in this?"

"Well, _obviously_," I explained with the air of teaching a small and overemotional child that it isn't polite to hit. "If you become _bitten_, that leads to being a _vampire_, which is not, technically speaking, living." I spread my hands. "Do you see how that works?"

"Yes," she said, inching toward the side of the bed. I was standing more or less in front of the door; it looked like she was going to make a break for the window. "I'm not thick."

I circled around the bed and blocked the window. "If you thought you were going out the window, then yes, you are."

Mina stared at me.

"You'd break your legs, and that would just make it easier for me. Really, it's no fun if there's no challenge. Speaking of which-" I snapped my fingers. "There's no real point in my being here if I don't get reimbursed _somehow_. I'm thirsty."

She looked at the door, at me, back at the door.

"I'll only catch you," I threatened.

Mina was breathing very heavily. Her hands clenched into fists around the sheets. "You bastard."

"I can be brutal and sadistic too." I took a deep breath and said, as if it was one word: "Silence-if-you-make-a-sound-I-shall-take-him-and-dash-his-brains-out-before-your-very-eyes-first-a-little-refreshment-to-reward-my-exertions-you-may-as-well-be-quiet-it-is-not-the-first-time-or-the-second-that-your-veins-have-appeased-my-thirst."

"What?"

"Never mind." I walked a little closer to the bed. "Anyway, it's going to be very difficult to get in here in the coming weeks. _I_ think I ought to do something _momentous_, don't you? Something to speed up your changes, I mean."

"Get the _hell_ away from me!"


	45. In Which I Get Some StabHappy Friends

The door burst open.

Mina, of course, took this moment to get the hell off and away. Well, it's not like I didn't see _that_ coming, but oh well. I'd live- or die- or, you know, be fine. Either way. Her too. I was in a live-and-let-live moment just then.

I had been starting to feel _way_ better. Like, if there had been a hippie protest outside (keeping in mind I _hate_ hippies), I totally would have joined it. That was how very calm I was just then. And then Van Helsing and his damn crew had to come in and _ruin the whole thing_.

I was pulled from the depths of calm very, very quickly, and that was annoying. Not to mention disconcerting.

Not that the Acolytes and their Master looked much better. They had broken the doorknob- it now lay dangling uselessly against the dark wood- and forced their way in as if they fancied themselves cavalry, but the second they were actually _inside_ the room, they stopped dead in their tracks and stared at us hopelessly, mouths open and eyes wide.

I guess one way to not get stabbed is to shock them so much they can't even respond, and if it worked, I could roll with it.

I pushed Mina backwards even more than she had already taken the initiative to go, and made a lunge for them. The idea in my head- half-formed, and if you haven't already worked out that all my half-thought out plans really suck, you ought to have- was that, in their surprised state, they wouldn't think to try to stop me or such, just scatter like rabbits. And they almost did, too.

Van Helsing's arm came out and whipped around in a manner similar to unsheathing a sword (a real one, mind you, none of that innuendo that so often finds its way into stories). Clenched in his fist was an envelope. I was very prepared to knock it out of his hand and then laugh at him when the magnetic force that seems to accompany the things Van Helsing whips out. It wasn't unlike walking into a brick wall. Very similar, in fact. _Whumph_.

I stopped, and that gave them all the initiative they needed. Yanking out a supply of crucifixes large enough to supply a covenant filled with irresponsible nuns from everywhere (collars, cuffs, pockets, you name it, they had a cross stuffed there) and holding them out, they took steps forward. First one, then another.

I took another step back, preparing to knock them dead or unconscious- preferably the first- with whatever I could grab in the next second, Mina included, when the white moon, which had bathed the room in light almost as bright as noonday, ducked behind a shadow. What had been clearly visible in the last minute was utterly gone- to them- and I took this opportunity to get the hell out.

Wheee. I felt giddy. And pleased. A little _too_ pleased.

That _was _fun!

I should really do that more often.

I went back home. For some reason, I wanted to giggle. At everything. I assure you I am not kidding. This might explain why I thought the words "Oh, screw this," and dumped my papers and keys on the dining room table.

_ We'll find each other anyway- does who finds who even matter? Hide-and-seek is getting old. Besides, if I'm not incorrect, I think I shall know when I will see you next. Guten Abend!_

My house in the south. Ah, lovely.

I woke up the next day with something of a hangover. I honestly had no idea that was even possible.

I didn't go anywhere the next evening, or do much of anything, really. I thought about the situation at hand, and just how inconvenient it was getting to be. I wondered if I should give up the ghost for now, go back home, and come back later? Say, ten years? Twenty? Whichever. And bring the Brides that time.

Perhaps in due course, but for the moment, my focus was meeting up with my "friends" again, and I was late.

I went back to the southern house, and when I entered, I entered carefully, as slow and patiently as any predator could ever hope for. It too was an old house, dusty and full of bizarre and downright unnatural smells, but I kept as many senses as possible on alert for them. In this manner, it took an annoyingly long time to be sure that the downstairs was clear, and it was only after that that I went upstairs to go and find them

Ah. Yes. They were up here. It was painfully obvious that they had staked out (rim shot) the room at the very end of the hall. I could actually smell their nervous sweat through the walls- and I assure you, it was not pleasant- and hear their fragile hearts beating. I wanted to bang on the wall, just to freak them out, but that would be somewhat childish, so I settled for walking down the hall as slowly and as loudly as I could. I could actually _hear_ their heartbeats speeding up with every step I took, no exaggeration.

Well, no sense waiting _now_.

In one jump, I kicked the door open and jumped- _jumped_- over the threshold, and all of them (minus Mina, _again_, did they never learn?), gathered at the far end of the room, started and tried to run at me. It was Mina's fling all over again, except opposite, and I wasn't extremely mellow. But other than that, exactly the same.

Holding one arm up against my face and the other out to fend off attacks, I sprinted right through their midst. There was something oddly satisfying in that.

Harker, who God knows should have been the most prepared, whipped out a knife from inside his jacket. A largish knife, and he swung his arm outward like he was trying to backhand me, only not in the face, and with a knife. I moved out of the way, but its point cut my coat, unleashing a small flood of coins. I wasn't terribly fazed by this, more by the idea of actually being _stabbed_ than losing a few dollars. It was this thought that prompted me to duck under his arm and go out the window. This actually worked.

And then I just had to go and rub it in. "You think to baffle me, you with your pale faces all in a row, like sheep in a butcher's. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you! You think you have left me without a place to rest, but I have more. My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side. Your girls that you all love are mine already. And through them you and others shall yet be mine, my creatures, to do my bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed." The end to this was an immature, derisive noise.

I honestly have absolutely _no_ idea why I said this.


	46. In Which There's Trouble to Board A Boat

I went back to my few coffins left and the thread of thoughts I had left behind, resuming them as easily as picking up a well-read and beloved book. The ones about leaving, I mean. I was running out of coffins, and I'd have to go to Transylvania to replenish my stores in any case. But what if I just- _left?_ I didn't need to come back, or not immediately, anyway. A decade or two or three would be an annoying loss.

Not that my current hurdle was any less annoying.

Decisions, decisions. I mentally tabbed my losses and my wins, and it was almost painfully obvious which category was higher. Wow; I had _really_ screwed up.

No matter, because I was going home. The _Czarina Catherine_ had one more passenger on it when it set sail, which would be in- I checked my watch- a couple hours.

Ye Gods.

I felt a sudden wave of homesickness. For Romania. I didn't have to do any of this skulking around back home, or hiding, or fleeing; the townspeople knew what I was already. They didn't _like_ it, since I had a bad habit of biting their throats, stealing their children, and letting my Brides do whatever they wanted, but they _knew_ it. And _speaking_ of Brides . . .

Home.

I hadn't brought too many clothes with me. They all fit into one duffle bag, actually and other than that, there was one more hurdle.

The damn sun.

The sky was unseasonably hot and blue and cloudless. London's telltale fog and gloom had evaporated into the dry air, it seemed, and the locals couldn't have been more pleased by this; they had moved out of their houses and outside, into the shade of their trees, to talk and read. Sun isn't fatal for me, but it's pretty unpleasant. I hovered in the doorway for a moment, scanning for a path of shade, and didn't see one.

Grrrrrrr.

I did, however, notice a small group of older teenagers outside; they had stopped by my gate, apparently on a walk. They were all decked out in parasols, clothing to their throats and wrists (but as unbuttoned as they possibly could be), and they looked like they were hot as all hell (in as many ways as possible), but nevertheless, all were smiling and together in happy-laughy- teenager-land.

After some deliberation, I brought the carriage around back- it is very difficult to do what I was intending on a horse- and just walked down the driveway. It _was_ hot. And sunny. And I was wearing an awful lot of black. Good grief.

As I walked by, I casually removed the hat from the nearest boy. _Ah, thank you!_

I also distinctly heard him say, "Did that guy just take my hat?"

Not that it was very good, in any case- it was broad and made of straw and itchy, but it would do. It'd have to. I took off in the direction of the harbor.

----------------------------------------------------

"Good evening."

The man who appeared to be the supervisor of the harbor glanced up at me. He was large, with very red skin from the heavy summer sun skin and heavy drinking, with eyes that seemed too small for him; my physical opposite in every possible way. There was something about the way he looked, perhaps the way he was swollen like a satiated tick or the almost offense color he had turned, that made my lip curl slightly when I looked at him.

He looked back down at the notebook he had clutched in one meaty palm and then did a double-take. I think it was the straw monstrosity I was wearing. I made a mental note to burn the thing as soon as I was past the possibility of needing it again.

"Er," he said, clearing his throat. His voice was deep, phlegmby, and as rough as unsanded wood. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Why, yes," I said, smiling. "It so happens that you _can_."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I brought my coffin, which would be much like a salmon slowly fighting its way upstream if it wasn't so big, black, and clunky, to the wharf about a half hour later as cargo on a cheap horse-and-cart that had been lent to me by a small place down the street.

"_This_ is what you want moved?" the supervisor asked, surveying it skeptically with his hands in his pockets. His name, I had since learned, was William Whitner, and he made sure all shipments were in their proper places.

"Yes," I said, sliding out of the driver's seat. The horse tethered to the front of the wagon shuffled its hooves and tossed its head in apparent nervousness. I bent down, yanked up a flower that had been growing in between the planks of the boardwalk, and fed it to the animal; it stopped fretting as it munched on the petals and I put one hand on its hot, broad neck and felt it pulse under my skin. "This is what I want moved. Now, you said the _C_-"

"_Czarina Catherine_ is in port, yes," he replied, looking annoyed, but he had a right to. I had clarified the fact that the _Czarina Catherine_ was here, sailing back home under a new captain and new crew, at least five times, and probably more. There seemed to be some sort of irony in this- the ship that had brought me to England would bring me back out again- but I couldn't pin down what kind. "'Neways, you'll have to talk to her captain. He's the one who can take your box here on."

"I will do that," I pet the horse. It stood very still for me. "Would you mind bringing him here, please?"

Whitner nodded and walked off with the vague air of ditching someone very weird at a party. I took my hand off the mount, but it nudged me until I stoked its nose again.

Whitner returned, walking behind another man, presumably the captain; the latter was tanned as leather, bristled as a hairbrush, as wiry as a length of rope. He gave the overall impression of an old, but very tough, street cur.

"Good afternoon, Captain," I said, genuinely trying my utmost to be respectful. His only response to this was to stare at me like I'd murdered his family with a hacksaw.

"This is . . . uh . . . a client," Whitner fumbled, clearly off-set by the Captain's open animosity. "He would like to put some cargo on your-"

"No," the Captain interrupted curtly.

"But I've already-"

"_No_," he repeated, his voice lowering to a growl. He folded his muscled arms across his chest and glared at me; Whitner cringed a little and backed off a little ways. It was starting to get a little aggravating. I cleared my throat.

"Sirs, if I may-"

"_No_!" the captain barked, loud enough to ensure that all motion within 500 feet stopped, putting his face a half an inch from mine. "What have I said, you bloody yuppie? The ship's bloody full! If you haven't put in a blooming order by now, you can get yourself down to hell, and take that bloody box with you!"

I listened to this "bloody" speech with my hands clasped behind my back and my expression completely impassive. When he stopped talking, I waited a moment to ensure he was truly finished, and went ahead with a speech of my own.

"That may be," I said quietly. "But I will have my cargo on board no later than tomorrow evening. I can either pay you very handsomely for your troubles, or I can force you with as much pain and unhappiness as I can ever imagine."

The Captain's scowl slipped for a moment. His eyes searched my face for any indication that I was not dead serious and found none.

"Do you doubt me?" I asked, without raising my voice any.

As quick as the claws of a cat, the uncertain expression was gone from his face and the tough-dog look had taken its place. "Money, hmm?"

"Yes, plenty. But it is, as always, your choice."

"How much?"

"Enough to interest you, I'm sure, but precise numbers need not be discussed now."

He made a slight growling sound. It was such a pitiful play at dominance I would have laughed, if my power in the situation was not entirely dependent on keeping a straight face. "It had bloody well better be dear."

"You can sleep well over that, dear sir." I hope you _die_.

"What'd you want done with your box?"

"The bottommost layer of the ship, please, and as far from the ladder as you can take it. Its contents are fragile, and I'd like it to be in as little danger as possible."

He grunted at me and, in a mockery of respect, asked, "Would you like to supervise this, _sir?_"

"No," I replied, ignoring his insolence. "I have other errands."

"You'd better be back before I hoist the blooming anchor."

I smiled thinly. "I have every intention of that. Thank you for your kindness." I pictured being at sea, surrounded by nothing but rolling blue waves and no companions but the sharks. It was a soothing image. "I do have one other request, however."

He looked like he wanted to claw my eyes out of their sockets as he gritted out, "_What?_"

"I would like to be onboard before you set off. To make sure you deserve payment, shall we say?"

The Captain actually bared his teeth at me this time. "Goddamn, I don't want another bloody Frenchman on my ship!"

"That should be no problem," I said sleekly, turning on my heel. "Seeing as I'm not French." 

As I walked off, I distinctly heard the Captain say to Whitner, who had been skulking around in the background, "You tell anybody about this, and I'll knock your brains out."

I got a bit of humor out of that.


	47. In Which I Slip Aboard

Funny as it was, though, the Captain was pretty obviously going to try to screw me over as badly as he possibly could- since we didn't exactly- _coughcough_- hit it off- and if he left with my coffin, I was going to be seriously pissed. 

I focused on the blades of grass that had reappeared now that I was off the dock. Such vibrant shades, they were, bright and deep at the same time. Very satisfying. I pictured their colors paling within tints of white and silver, fog curling around their stalks and leaves like silent, ghostly serpents. This idea lent itself to the mental image of this same fog spreading, from one snake to millions, across all of Whitby and farther, into the ocean. My train of thought switched. Suppose the sea rose? Suppose the waves rolled too harshly to sail on as if all the monsters of the deep had come awake here.

In a second as startling as getting poked with a functional cattle prod when (and where) you are least expecting it, my eyes flicked back out of "staring at grass" mode and into "functional optical nerves" mode, which I would usually like more, even if that makes it rather difficult to control the weather.

A fine mist had started rising, as if from the earth itself, and rose quickly from the ground to an inch above the cobblestones to ankle level to knee height. The people who were out stood up unsteadily and, staring down with clear surprise and unease, made for their own, familiar, mist-free homes, stirring the fog behind them into swirling shapes like from an incense stick.

I smiled as the clouds overhead shifted, shielding the sun.

With the threat of the ship leaving without my stowing away on it carried away on swirls of mist and a rising tide, I went onto my last errand. Post office.

_K., A., E., _

_ As it turns out, England isn't actually as enjoyable as one would think. Watch for the Czarina Catherina. I'll probably be sailing it. _

_ D. _

I never said writing letters was my passion.

I mailed that and went back to the wharf.

The Captain, on seeing _me _again, looked like merely clawing my eyes out would not be satisfying anymore. The fog and rising tide that had stranded his ship had made him, literally, psychotic with fury. If he had tried to rip my throat out with his teeth, I would not have been surprised.

"So how is my box doing?" I asked brightly.

He told me, in rather colorful language, exactly what I could do with my box. I didn't take offense at it. In all honesty, it was fairly comical. Whitner, who was skulking around in the background checking that all the cargo was making its way to the correct ship, however, looked horrified, but I simply smiled in response.

"Be that as it may, but if I don't get to confirm that it is where I directed it to be, it is _your_ pay that suffers."

"I'll take him," Whiter mumbled, cringing with mortification. The Captain, seething to the point where steam could actually come off of his skin and not really surprise me, let him. They had kept to their word. The coffin was below deck.

When I stood quietly surveying the scene, Whitner started fidgeting. "Sir, I have other duties to attend to, so if you could-"

"I know the way out."

"Yes, but-"

"I'd like to check on the contents, if you don't mind. I'll show myself off the ship."

He looked like he was ready to argue with me when he bit the inside of his cheek, nodded, and left with his clipboard. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had been nothing but useful up until now, and it would have been unfortunate to have to knock him unconscious and hide him in a closet.

I let myself into the casket, locked it from the inside, and fell asleep to the thoughts of going home.

**Let's just assume they live in a parallel universe where the mail would get there _before_ he did, okay?**


	48. In Which I Have an Intolerable Epiphany

Finding myself back on a ship, with considerably less prospects than the time I had been on one before, and not even that many alcoholics on board as last time, was considerably mind-numbing enough to ensure that I did a lot of sleeping. Plus if I left I'd probably run into the bloody Captain sooner or later, and I didn't foresee that being very pleasurable, so I kept to the lower decks mostly. 

What I foresaw as being the biggest problem was Van Helsing and his crew following the ship. I doubted they would come after me via boat, since boats can only go so fast and they would have set out after me, giving me plenty of time to dock and leave before they had a chance to get me, and that left land travel. They would probably confront me when the ship pulled into dock in Varna, either by storming it or stealing the coffin, somehow.

I couldn't foresee any practical way to escape with the coffin if they did try it, only a way to escape myself, and that really wasn't preferable. _Daher_, it made more sense to simply not pull into Varna at all.

Night fell, and I let myself out of the coffin with a weirdest sense of déjà vu. After ensuring that everyone on the boat was, indeed, asleep (just to ensure that some drunken sailor who called himself "Juan" didn't walk into me, which would only exacerbate the permeating weirdness), I started looking for maps in order to pinpoint some other dock to pull into.

There was such a place- Galaţi (or, the English version, Galatz), which was some ways to the east. This proved to be a better solution for several reasons; one, Galaţi was in Romania, whereas Varna was in Bulgaria, and two, because it was on the banks of the Danube, supplying further opportunity for transportation.

Galaţi it was, then.

This required changing the ship's course, naturally, and I highly doubted the crew would respond if some man they had never met walked up and told them all that they were set for a different destination.

So I got to control the Captain, and it was _fun_.

It was easier than I would have thought, too. He woke up just a little before sunrise, when his small cabin- literally so small you could bend over and actually get stuck like that- was still pitch-black, got up, and walked directly into yours truly.

"_What in the bloody h_-" he barked out, both of his hands flying up to face level and curling into fists, but he was prevented from saying any more when I sunk my teeth into the side of his throat. He tasted very bizarre and unappetizing. Kind of like beef jerky. I gagged a little.

Taste aside, he let out a wheeze and crumpled onto me. I barely caught him before he hit the floor, both of us slick with blood. I lowered him down carefully, tore a strip of cloth off of his sleeve and staunched the flow. He'd lost quite a bit already, and it wouldn't do to have him die of blood loss. That would defeat my purposes.

I secured the makeshift tourniquet onto the side of his neck and checked his pulse. Slower, but steady and strong. Very good. I lit a candle so as to see him better.

The Captain didn't look good at all. The front of his shirt had been stained a brilliant red, and his eyes had glazed over, focusing neither here nor there. And, as the case had been with my poor, dear Luc, he was perfectly susceptible, in this semiconscious state, to anything I chose to tell him (he should have been relieved that I had not asked worse than what I did).

"Can you hear me?" I asked, lowering myself onto my knees.

Air whistling in and out of his mouth, he made a noise that could be construed as affirmative.

"What is your title?"

"Captain," he mumbled.

"Good. Who am I?"

"I don't know."

Okay. "Do you know where you are?"

"Heading toward Varna."

"No," I corrected. "Not any more. You're going to Galaţi now."

"Yes."

"You will inform the crew."

"Yes."

"Change your shirt as soon as possible."

"Yes."

I cleaned up the blood on both of us to the best of my ability, and set him back on the bed, where he fell back asleep. I was on my way back down below deck when I had my first (and only waking, thank God) fugue. I know that word doesn't exactly fit what happened, but it's the first thing that came to my mind, and it's stuck.

I began to descend the ladder.

_The chair I'm sitting on was soft and comfortable, but its luxuriant texture was the farthest thing from my mind. My hands are on the arms of the chair, clenching so hard I must be leaving gouges in the wooden frame, while Van Helsing is holding something in front of my face. A pocket watch? Necklace? Something; I can't tell. He swings it rhythmically. I watch it. The rest of the people in the room- my husband, my people- watch me watch it. _

_He stops swinging it. My hands are relaxed on the chair now. There are small bits of fabric under my fingernails. _

_"What do you see?" he asks. _

_"Nothing. All is dark." In truth, there is only the room as it has been; pastels, everything smooth, slants of early morning sunlight that has come through the half-drawn blinds, Jonathan and Dr. Seward and Quincy and Arthur staring at me as if they are trying to look into my soul. I try to raise my head and look around at them, but I feel as if everything on me, even my eyes, has frozen to stone. I cannot move one single inch. _

_"What do you hear?" _

_All that reaches my ears in this place is my heartbeat, the breathing of all those people watching me, and birdsong. My mouth is moving of its own accord, and I am powerless to stop it. "I can hear the waves lapping against the ship, and the water rushing by. Canvas and cordage strain and masts and yards creak. The wind is high . . . I can hear it in the shrouds, and the bow throws back the foam." _

_This is not my voice! _

And suddenly, with no notion of how I got there, I was on my back at the bottom of the ladder. My back was sore and achy, but I had no memory of having fallen. I rolled to my feet slowly with confusion clouding my head like cotton balls. _What_ the _hell_ was _that_?

I was just _in_ Mina's head.

Oh. My. God.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Most of my fugues came as dreams, but dreams as real and vivid as real life, with actions that made sense and words I understood, and this only added to my conviction that I was, indeed, seeing through her eyes. This made me more than a little paranoid when it occurred to me that if I could see through her eyes, she could almost certainly see through mine.

The fugues were mostly the same as the first one- sitting while Van Helsing swung a pocket watch or a necklace or _whatever_ that thing was (it drove me figuratively insane not knowing for sure) and asking me the same things every time. What do you see? What do you hear? And every time- It's dark. There's water.

It was a long time before I tried to initiate one myself.

It was much the same principal as controlling the weather, focusing on sensory details, letting go of thinking and simply _feeling_. The problem was, I only thought to initiate them at night, and all I got from her then was all she had so far gotten from me. Darkness. Cool sheets.

I think there was possibly more creepiness in that realization that I was, mentally, in bed with her, than anything else thus far. Good God. It took an awful lot of willpower not to bang my head on the nearest hard object when that occurred to me.

But I digress. As I said before, most of the fugues came as dreams and left my waking hours relatively untouched , and as a result I poured my heart and soul into moving this damn boat along.

As a result, arrived at port October 28th, a full twenty-three days after leaving. This is incredibly good time.

But the best part?

The Brides were waiting for me.


	49. In Which The Brides Get Their Spotlight

When I went to leave the ship, discreetly after everyone else and only after leaving behind explicit instructions regarding where to move my coffin, I only got about halfway down the ramp before a white blur knocked into me with the force of an oncoming train and wrapped cold arms around my neck. It was this- in addition to the sheer dumb luck I had been enjoying recently- the only reason I did not go flying off into the water. _Whumph!_

"You're back!" shrieked a high-pitched, girlish voice as the pressure on my neck increased and something large pressed against my chest. "You're back!"

"No, I'm just a figment of your imagination, Lizzie."

Elizabeth let out a catlike squeal and hugged me tighter. A wide, genuine smile had taken over the bottom half of her face, baring pointed canines. I put my hand on the top of her head and she gave me one last squeeze before letting off my neck and taking my hand, as if she was afraid I'd take off if she let me go. Bubbling with the enthusiasm that had not died down in over two hundred years, she walked back down with me.

Ava and Katherina were sitting on the small posts at the side of the boardwalk. Ava looked the same as ever- as if she would change herself just because of my absence- her hair up in the same side-part bun, long white dress as always. Katherina, who was usually into brushing her hair and leaving it at that, had plaited it and threaded it through with ribbons and flowers, put on earrings and a necklace. If she had not been sitting next to Ava, and if she had not had her arms crossed in that irritating way I knew so well, I would have walked right past her. As it was, I stopped and blinked at her.

"Jesus!"

Kat raised an eyebrow. She tried to look offended and failed miserably. "It's nice to see you too. Nice sunburn, by the way."

"Sunburn?"

"You look like you're blushing."

"That's wonderful, I've always wanted to look humiliated all the time. But let's not change the subject, my darling. Are those _flowers?_"

"And ribbons, yes." She unknotted her arms and placed her hands on her hips, gave up on trying to look offended, and gave way to a self-satisfied smirk. The combined loveliness of all of these actions was almost blinding. "Do you have something you want to say about my ribbons?"

"No." I reached out and put a lock of wayward hair behind her ear. "You look nice."

The grin enlarged.

Ava had waited patiently through all of this by keeping very quiet, but she smiled calmly as I turned my attention to her. She got to her feet and kissed my cheek chastely. "It's nice to have you back."

"It's nice to be back."

"England interesting?" Katherina asked, cupping each elbow with her opposite hand and titling her head. There was something in the set of her eyes that told me that wasn't her real question.

I mentally debated several possible answers before settling on, "Interesting, yes."

"Good-interesting or bad-interesting?" she clarified shrewdly. Ava glanced at her, and then back at me, and even Lizzie was looking up at me expectantly. It occurred to me that they'd probably been wondering about this since they'd gotten my letter. I heaved a mental sigh; I'd have to explain everything sooner, rather than later, especially considering I didn't know how much time I had before Van Helsing and his crew caught up with me.

"Bad-interesting."

"Do tell," said Kat.

I bit the inside of my cheek. "It's kind of a long story."

"Well," Ava said softly. "It's kind of a long way home."


	50. In Which the Spanish Inquisition Lives

Ava sat on the room's one armchair with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, crimson eyes boring into me like red lasers. She had kept her promise thus far, although I suspected it was not so much that as the fact that her hands were actually holding her jaw shut. 

I had promised that I would give them the whole story, uncut and unrated, as soon as we were home (my thinking being that walking and talking would make us go slower) and I wanted to be _home_ as soon as possible.

Katherina and Elizabeth were having something of a harder time keeping their end of the deal as well as Ava was. Both had possessed the cushions on the other side of me, watching me raptly. It would have been flattering, how sharply they were focused on me, if their comments- or Katherina's, anyway, Lizzie was more astonished than malicious- had not been so ego-bruising.

As I got to the part about turning Lucy, it became painfully obvious that Ava had clenched her jaw in order to keep herself from talking. Her Sisters did not, evidently, think I merited that treatment.

"W-o-w," Elizabeth, eyes wide as she made the word into three syllables. She pulled a face. "So the _whole house_ had garlic on it? Yuck!"

Katherina turned her head and stared at her as if she was just itching to knock her out the nearest window. Ava's expression was merely a physical rendition of "why must I suffer these fools?"

"Just her room."

"And she fell _asleep_?"

"To be honest, Liz, she was fairly out of it, and didn't have much of a choice."

"Ohhhh." She sat back again. "Okay. Keep going."

I kept going. Ava kept her promise, now by physically putting her hand in her mouth, up until I got to the piece about biting Mina (including the, um, "one night stand"), and at that point it became too difficult for all three of them to contain themselves.

Katherina was, as always, first.

_Whack!_ The heel of her hand cuffed the back of my head. It sent my face hurtling downwards, and it hurt. A lot. I very narrowly avoided breaking my nose on my knee. "Ouch!"

"You deserved that," she growled, narrowing her beautiful blue eyes and baring her sharp white teeth.

I privately disagreed with her, but thought it unwise to say so. I would agree to anything, consent to any punishment, if it let me stay here, with them and everything that I knew and cared for. "Yes," I said.

"You are an _idiot_," she admonished. And then, as an afterthought- "A really, really _big_ one."

"I am," I repeated feverishly. "And I promise to never, never do it again, ever."

"Maybe so, but still," Katherina said and smacked me again, this time much harder and on the base of my neck, which is a considerably more tender place, and her blow left me only able to vaguely turn my head over the next few days. I let her. It was easier than fighting her, anyway.

Ava's turn was next. She had buried her face in her hands as I had explained and got a tongue-lashing from my eldest Brides, and she now raised herself enough to look out at me from between her fingers. I tried, and failed, to read the set of her feline eyes.

"I have to clarify," she said, pulling up fully, setting her hands into a "let me explain" gesture, and pausing for a moment as if to collect her thoughts.

"Go ahead."

"So you turned this girl Lucy."

"Yes."

"And she was staked."

"Yes."

"And then you bit the wife of one of the people hunting you." I had already explained Mina's affiliation with Harker. Katherina had been especially pleased with this and, I think, forgave me.

"Yes."

"So, somewhere between the staking and the second biting," Ava said slowly. "You thought it was a good idea to bite someone even _closer_ to their heart than this Lucy in a way designed specifically to be horrific and terrifying to her."

I bit my lip and said, "Yes."

"Ah," said Ava calmly, folding her hands. "As long as that's clear. Go ahead, please."


	51. In Which a Solution is Reached

"And that's all?" Ava asked in her most world-weary voice. "And we can ask questions now?"

"By all means." I turned my head and looked out the window. A rain had started sometime between Ava's interruption and my finishing, and it had by now drummed itself up into quite a healthy thunderstorm, drops the size of quarters. Elizabeth watched me watch it; her head was on my shoulder, deadweight, and, in a voice quiet enough to ensure only I could hear it, said, "We haven't had rain in such a long time."

"Okay," Ava said. "Just what in _hell_ were you thinking?"

"Talk about a silly question," Katherina piped up, playing with her hair. "He obviously wasn't."

I made a "yeah, that's pretty much it" shrug and Ava sighed and got to her feet. She held her chin in one hand, the elbow of that arm in the other, and paced across the room, staring at the floor. "So," she said, more to herself than to any of us. "Van Helsing and his followers are coming here with the intention of killing us."

"Yes," I said. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have said "duh," but I had done some spectacularly stupid things since leaving, and I didn't think my mocking _her_ intelligence (which, I think, outstrips my own) would be well taken.

"We cannot deter them," she said, still pacing. "If they have crossed oceans, simply magic tricks are not likely to send them back on the nearest ship. It _appears_ to them that we will fight, or we will die."

"Well, fight, obviously!" Katherina said loudly, spreading her hands palms-up.

"No," said Ava quietly, lost in thought. "I don't think we should."

For a moment there was shocked silence on our end, and in the next moment all three of us were on our feet. Loudly.

"Not fight? How can we not fight? Why don't we just lie down in front of them and make it easier?"

"Why shouldn't we fight?"

"If anyone is going to die, it ought to be them!"

Ava held up her hands against our outburst and kept them there until we quieted. Her eyes had narrowed just slightly. "You want to fight?" she asked, sounding almost feverish. "Fight? For how long? Weeks? Months? _Years?_ Master has tried-" She pointed at me. "And proved my point. For every one of our strengths, we have a weakness they can exploit. We are too evenly matched to come away winning."

"Then we move quickly!" I insisted. "If we storm them-"

"They are armed!" Ava yelled. "They will always _be_ armed, possibly for the rest of their lives, and every skirmish we enter we will come away as Master has before. They will always be ready, and we cannot be, and if we fight there will come a day- in weeks or in years, I don't know- where we will let down our guard and they stake us."

"_So why don't we just get it over with now?!_" I shouted.

Ava laughed shrilly and reached her hand out, laying it against my cheek. It was as cool as marble and, instinctively, I raised my own hand and held it to hers. "You silly boy. Listen to what I saw, will you? It _appears_ our only options are to fight or die."

"_And?_" I demanded.

"As you, of all people, should know, appearances are deceiving," she said, withdrawing her arm. "There is a third alternative."

"_Then stop hinting and say it_," Katherina seethed. Lizzie, who was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her, scooted away.

"They _think_ we die," she said simply.

"How?" Lizzie asked in that curiously fresh voice of hers.

"That is what I'm pondering," Ava said, crossing her arms and turning away from us. "Master, their plan of attack is to seize you before you reach the castle and drive a stake through your heart, no?"

"Don't forget slitting my throat."

"Ah, yes." She nodded. "And what vampires have they killed, apart from Lucy?"

"Van Helsing may have killed some, but the others, none."

"So, basically, they only know what happened when they killed someone still half alive, and have no real notion of what to expect when they stab someone as old as us."

"Yes."

"That's very good. Gives us more creative license." Ava began to pace again. "We have to fake our own deaths, but we have to do it in such a way that it leaves no doubt in their mind we have passed, and also prevents them from pursuing the matter further."

"And we do this _how?_" Katherina insisted. "The only way to seem to kill ourselves in such a foolproof manner is to _actually_ kill ourselves."

There was a pregnant silence.

"We could seem to turn to dust," Elizabeth offered, and Katherina made a disgusted noise.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever-"

"Lizzie," Ava said, choking Kat off midsentence. "That's brilliant."

"It is?" Lizzie asked, looking astonished, and then she beamed.

"How in the hell are we supposed to do that?" Katherina demanded, clearly nonplussed. "We can't turn into dust."

"No, but we can put dust in our clothes, and we can mist."

"The dust will just come with us," Elizabeth said. "Won't it?"

It was starting to dawn on me now. "No. Only what's directly touching one of us will come with."

Now they all looked at me, Ava nodding excitedly. Her cheeks were flushed. "Yes! You understand!" She held her hands out, looking as though she wanted to crush something between them just to prove she could. This side, this animated, "I have something to solve!" side of her, was not something I saw often, and I rather liked it. "If we get dust and dirt under us and in our clothes and we _let_ ourselves be caught, we can mist when they start to stake us, and it'll give the impression of us just . . . _disintegrating_. There's nothing that will keep them there after _that!_"

"Excuse me. One flaw," Katherina said sharply.

We turned and stared at her. Ava was breathing especially hard. "_What?_"

"If we have to mist at the same second they start pounding a stake into us," she said, sarcasm dripping off her tone. "The chances of them hitting our hearts before we can get gone is though the _roof_."

"It's a very high roof," said Elizabeth. I've never fully understood this comment, for some reason, but I've never wanted to clarify on something Elizabeth, of all people, said.

"Armor," I said.

Ava blinked at me. "What?"

"_Armor_," I said, a little louder. "Or chain mail. On our chests; it won't stop the stake fully, but it ought to keep it always from our heart."

"Babe, I like how you think," Katherina said.

******Fiftieth chapter. --falls over dead and is brought back by main characters--**

******I would have updated this eariler, but I started watching "Dracula: Dead and Loving it" and once you start that movie, you simply cannot stop. It's like a drug. Anyway, it's now my third-favorite movie (after "Little Miss Sunshine" and "Shuan of the Dead") and as such, I must now quote some of my favorite lines (there are so many I hardly know what to choose, but I'll try).**

******"Kiss me, Jonathan!" "Um, Lucy, I'm engaged to _Mina_. And you're dead."**

******"My God! What are you doing to the furniture?!" (two minutes later) ********"No, no, this is wrong, I can't do this, so very wrong and- yes! Wrong me! Wrong my brains out!"**

******"How much blood can she possibly have left?" (Famous last words)**

**And, always in good taste: "I'm also a gynecologist." "Oh, I didn't know you had your hand in that too."**


	52. In Which We Take the Steps

The story and the resultant argument and epiphany had taken all of the night, and the Brides, who (unlike me) were not accustomed to the sun, had to go to bed, and I followed their example. There was such familiar wonderment in that one act, sleeping in the same place with the same people at the same time, that I could hardly speak when I bid them good night.

I did not try to initiate any carnal matter. I'm sure you all have been wondering this. I suspected that, if I brought the subject up, Katherina _and_ Ava would hit me, and I didn't want that.

I woke up in the middle of the day, around noon, to someone knocking on the coffin lid. Still rather groggy and confused, I kicked the lid off. It was Elizabeth.

"Master?" She said this in the same voice a toddler daughter would say, "Daddy, would you leave on the light?"

I grunted in response. My vocal chords were not fully functional yet.

"Could I lay down with you? Just lay down next to you . . . I'm too warm in my coffin." I wondered if I was imagining the unspoken, "and I've missed you" on the end of her sentence. I really hoped not.

I nodded and turned on my side as she carefully folded herself down next to me, pressing her back against my chest. Strands of her curly black hair made their way under my cheek; they smelled so familiar. Like rose petals. I put my arm around her front, my hand ending up on her shoulder, and pressed my forehead to the back of her head. She didn't shuffle me off. It felt good. Very good.

We laid like that as the sun made its way across the sky and gave way into the moon. I didn't fully fall asleep, more drifted in and out of vague consciousness. The shadows in the room seemed to change on fast-forward.

Next thing I knew, two people were standing over us and one of them said, somewhat snidely, "Ain't that cute?"

I blinked and raised my head; Elizabeth mumbled something in her sleep and rubbed her eyes. It took a few minutes to remember that I was home again, and these girls were my paramours. Very irritating paramours. I swallowed and said in a husky, not-fully-here voice, "Evening, ladies."

"You're awfully quick to forgive, Lizzie," Ava said, helping Elizabeth up. She stood, swaying, with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

"She has the attention span of a retarded gopher," Katherina said, examining her nails. "That's why."

"D' not," Lizzie muttered, closing her eyes.

Kat ignored her. To me, she extended her hand, helping me up, and said, "I hate to interrupt your sweet moment, but we need to get started. We have a lot to cover."

"We have several potential problems," Ava announced, back upstairs. The rest of us were laying/sitting on the furniture. She was pacing again; I thought she it made her look very pretty. Katherina, who apparently did not, made some impressions of her when her back was turned. I suspected Ava was not as unaware of this as she acted.

"What are they?"

Ava held out her hands and began to tick them off on her long, tapered, musician's fingers. "Our dresses. They're too flowy and a bit too open in the chest to effectively hide armor or chain mail and dust. What we need is something that can be cinched around the elbows and the front. A corset, perhaps. I think that would hide it fairly effectively.

"Second, we are catering to what the Brits expect. They may be worried, and start a new plan of attack if they suspect we have been here, plotting, they may change their plans, and that is the very last thing we want. Most likely, they will try to ambush him just outside the castle; too many places for him to be if they try to catch him earlier than that. Therefore, Master must be in his coffin, heading _here_, by the time they have settled outside our doors.

"_We_ must control when they try to kill us. Since avoiding our own death requires our ardent participation as well as preparation, we must trick them, in some way, to come after us when we are prepared." She hummed in her throat, tapping her fingers against her teeth.

"And last, but not least, we have to find some chain mail or some armor."

"Of the four," I said, standing up and taking the floor. "Two of them should be easy enough. This is a castle, after all, with more than its fair share of weapons. I could find them if I really thought about it. As for dresses-" I flicked Ava's sleeve. "You haven't worn this set of dresses forever; I think the ones that came before would fit your needs. They're in a trunk somewhere. Do you ladies think you can locate them?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?" Kat asked snidely.

"I love you, Katherina."

"It's so cute how you try to distract me," she said sweetly. "But it doesn't work."

"Don't even start, you two," Ava interjected. "We have work to do."

Indeed we did, and over the course of the next couple of days, we did it. The Brides pulled three chemises and corsets apparently out of air (I certainly couldn't have located them, I can tell you that much) and I had to pull apart four suits of armor, but by October 27th, we reassembled with all parts intact.

The Brides, who had already made their peace with the moral "screw modesty," preformed a partial striptease in order to be try out the metal and new- er, old- dresses. I didn't get particularly excited. Nothing I hadn't seen before, after all.

"Oof, heavy," Lizzie said. She shivered.

I laughed and adjusted it to a more comfortable position on her. "Do you think this is bad? You should trying wearing it for hours under a hot sun. It's _hell_."

"You obviously haven't worn a corset before," Ava muttered darkly, slipping her chemise over her head and then securing a corset around her stomach and lower chest. "Can one of you help lace this?"

I started to move forward, but Katherina- who had, by some gymnastic motions, managed to tie herself- jumped at the chance, and she was closer, so I let her go. I laced Lizzie up instead.

"Ah! Kat, not so _tight_. I have to breathe."

"No you don't," Katherina said, pulling the threads as tight as earthly possible. Ava looked particularly attractive, physically, but she very rapidly lost any pigmentation she might have had beforehand. She pressed her hands to her stomach.

"I have to talk, don't I?"

"Well, fine, talk yourself hoarse." Katherina loosened the laces just enough for her sister to draw breath. "And don't be such a ninny. I had to wear these most every day when _I_ was a human, and had to lace them up on my own too."

"You were a whore," Ava muttered. 

Katherina deliberately pulled the straps so tightly so hard I heard a _cracking_ sound, and Ava's eyes swallowed up her face. Her skin took on a waxy color. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Ava tried to say something but, being unable to force air into her lungs, only managed to open and close her mouth.

"Katherina, stop being deliberately antagonizing. You _were_ a whore. How do you think I came and sat by you? Ava, come here, I'll loosen you."

She came gratefully and stood so still she could have been mistaken for a marble statue until the laces came apart enough to let her breathe, and upon that she gasped as if she'd been drowning. "Chain mail in the sun," Ava said, nearly panting and running her palms over the corset's planes. "Is no hell compared to these torture devices."

"I know worse torture devices. My father was fond of them."

"Your dad was into torturing?"

"He was a renowned warrior, so what do you think? He enjoyed mock executions, mainly, with prisoners of war, but he was not above torturing people with rats."

This was met with three sets of raised eyebrows and expressions that said, "Go on."

"It's quite simple, really," I explained. "If one takes a largish pot and puts rats inside of it, then places it against a bare stomach- trapping the rats- and heating up the pot, the rats will frenzy and claw through the victim's flesh in an attempt to escape the heat." I fiddled with the armor. "Skin is softer than metal."

For several minutes, the Brides stared at me, apparently shocked into silence, while I continued to dress myself in chain mail. Eventually, Kat broke the silence. "God damn, _I_ wouldn't even do that!"

"It's nice to know you have your limits," I said, smiling at her.

"That was your _father?_" Elizabeth demanded, clearly appalled. "He did _that_ with people?"

"With _prisoners of war_," I emphasized. "Not his children."

"Oh," Ava said simply. "Well, then, obviously, that's acceptable."

I looked at her suspiciously. "Are you trying to be funny? I can't tell."

"Not especially." She shrugged. "Such a wonderful life it is."

"_Is est sic non vita procul totus_," I replied and Ava, the only other among us who spoke Latin, smiled at that. Katherina and Elizabeth- mainly the first, though- went nuts when excluded from conversation in such a basic way, and they promptly forgot what we had been talking about before. Thank God. I really didn't like talking about my family.

_**Is est sic non vita procul totus This is so not life at all Spring Awakening quote**_


	53. In Which Ava Gets Her Turn

All three Brides and myself fitted ourselves with chain mail as best we could. It was especially difficult for them, since the armor was designed for broad men, and they were not much more than little girls, but I soldered them a little more close-fitting with a white-hot fire poker, burning myself multiple times. Elizabeth, who was surprisingly good with a needle and thread, tailored the chemises a little to hide our purposes. Ava, who I was beginning to think was _vastly_ underappreciated, locked herself in the library for over four hours and eventually returned to the rest of us sporting pages upon pages of detailed notes taken in her neat hand.

"What's this?" Elizabeth and Katherina had gone down to sleep and I was busy arranging the hot links of chain mail into a pattern in which they could cool.

"Notes." Ava rustled over the top of them. "On your fugues and how to stop them."

"Ava," I said. "Have I ever told you how absolutely wonderful you are?"

"I always like to hear it," she said, smiling. "But let's focus on surviving first, and then you can tell me how fantastic and aesthetically pleasing I am." She consulted the notes. "I found some books that deal with vampires- you need to expand your collection, by the way- and on that subject in particular."

"Do tell."

"Yours and Mina's . . . relationship . . . it's called _vinculum cruor_, and it's a fairly common practice among vampires such as us, if not an especially accepted one, and it binds the vampire- you- to the human- Mina- as long as there are emotional threads to hold you two together."

I narrowed my eyes. "Explain, please."

"As long as one of you is focusing on the other in a deep way, you're stuck."

Shit. "So it's not enough for _me_ to drop _her_."

"No."

"But the best thing for _me_ to do is stop focusing on her."

"Yes."

"I can do that." I pulled Ava onto my lap. She sort of laughed, wrapped her arms around my neck, and rested her temple against my collarbone. The curve of her skull fit against the curve of my inner shoulder perfectly, like a puzzle piece. I sighed.

"So absence _does_ make the heart grow fonder," Ava said softly. I could feel her mouth bend into a smile against the soft and sensitive skin of my throat. "I have missed you."

The chair we were in was a rocking chair- easier to bend over the cooling chains- and I put one leg out against the table and rocked us. She curled up so as not to hinder this, not unlike a little kid on some mall Santa's lap.

Wait, no, that's not something I want to picture. Forget I said that.

"Apart from the hunter, what was England like?" she asked, taking her head off my shoulder so she could look at me with those bizarrely penetrating eyes of hers, eyes I would not trade for anything. I pressed my lips against hers for a moment while I considered my answer, and she returned it.

"Has Britain taught you to be careful?" she asked, pulling back and raising her eyebrows at me.

"What?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

"You won't break me, I promise."

"Oh, well, in _that_ case-" I kissed her harder. The hands resting on the back of my head tightened. It almost hurt. Almost.

The door banged open and Ava stiffened, but not in a very pleasant way. I came very, very close to some obscene words and gestures, but they died halfway out of my brain. The door-bangers in question were Elizabeth and Katherina, and both of them were obviously agitated- flushed cheeks, overbright eyes, and breathing quickly.

"What's happened?" Ava demanded, seeming vaguely embarrassed. I wanted to tell her that if they had figured out, in over two centuries, that we were intimate, and that there was clearly no sense in being shy about it, but she was already focused on her sisters.

Katherina was nearly panting. "Guess who's in woods?"

Ava did not trouble herself with a verbal response, simply leapt off my lap in an act of feline proportions and went for the room's only window, the other three of us on her heels. The forest below the castle was forever and gorgeous, sparkling shadows and hills of jade and emerald and obsidian, but my eyes bypassed this beauty for the small circle of gold and orange, hidden in the depths of trees.

"Oh," Ava said softly. "Is that them?"

"Yes!" Katherina shouted. I have never, before or since, seen her so excited in such a good way. "This is them!"

"That's odd," Ava replied. "I pictured them bigger."

I began to wonder if she had gained a sense of humor- or a deliberate sense of humor, anyway- in her time without me, and if that said anything I ought to be aware of.

"Come _on_, guys!" Katherina insisted. Her cheeks were flushed a deep scarlet, the color of roses. "They're here. This is our _chance!_"

"No!" Ava snapped, suddenly all teeth and claws. "Haven't you been listening over the past few days? _We're not fighting_."

"But-"

"No!" Ava put her hands on her hips. "Besides, Katherina, I would have thought getting to taunt people into following you would be your calling."

"Oh," Katherina said, sounding merely surprised, and then- "_oh_."

"As you say, 'oh,'" Ava responded coolly. She tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear, which, for whatever reason, struck me as incredibly sexy. Weird.

"So . . . wait-" Elizabeth said slowly, clearly at a loss. "We _make_ them follow us?"

"Yes," her sister said, somewhat wearily and looking as if she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes.

"If it makes you feel better, I remembered," I offered. She rewarded this with a smile.

"Is that chain mail fitting?"

I glanced at is. "It's wearable, yes, but we still have to wait, the sun's almost up, we can't lure them now."

"Tomorrow night, then," she said, and I nodded.

"Doesn't Master have to leave?" Elizabeth asked suddenly. "So that they don't know he's been here?"

"Oh, right."

"Evening," Ava said firmly. "We prepare for everything this evening; for now, we have to sleep."

"Not in the basement," Kat interjected.

"No, we can bring our caskets upstairs."

We brought up the spare travel ones, although not without much swearing and banging into walls, bring the coffins up- as high as we could, into the darkest room we could find before the coffins could no longer fit through the doorways, and slept with the doors open and hands twined.


	54. In Which I'm Back on the Boat

When I woke back up, the sun was still in the sky, albeit low and shading the room a deep gold instead of pale yellow. The time was more or seven-thirty. All three Brides were still asleep. I took it upon myself to wake them, a chore I harkened to with some glee.

"Kat- Katherina-"

She muttered something in her sleep. It sounded like "Go 'way."

"You don't want to lure people to try and kill you?" I whispered, and she opened her eyes at that and let me pull her up.

Ava and Elizabeth woke up quickly and all three of them dressed themselves in corsets and chainmail. They complained a fair amount about corsets, but I thought it was very attractive.

My casket had been left with explicit orders to move it, however slowly, along the Danube in the direction of my castle, and the Brides accompanied me to one of the river's many stops- meant for captains to down a few quarts of hard liquor before retaking control of a moving vehicle- to wait for it. It arrived at about eight, being brought by a couple of Romanians who were so completely smashed they had trouble pronouncing their vowels. Katherina, evidently for the sheer joy of manipulating people, wheedled them into moving it off the river and toward land for free. They agreed to it without ever looking above her neck.

As soon as they staggered off in the direction of the hard liquor I mentioned earlier, I said to her "So you _can_ be helpful."

She smiled at me, baring her razor smile. "I did it for my own personal satisfaction."

"Thank you anyway."

All three of them looked at me. There was a vague ache around my heart, looking into their large, expressive eyes; eyes that I'd lived with for an average of three hundred years. I had to leave them now- if for the last time- but for the first time, the very real fear that they might die struck me.

What if this went wrong?

What if they _did_ die?

Ava's irises sparkled. Not for the first time, I got the impression she could see through me and that she would look down on me for what she saw.

Her hand touched my arm. It was cold and grounding. "We'll be okay," she said quietly, so soft her words hardly reached my ears.. "Aren't we always?"

I nodded and swallowed, hunted down my treacherous thoughts, and stomped them dead. "Have fun luring the Brits, and don't die."

"Okay!" Elizabeth said brightly.

"Don't die? There goes my fun," Katherina said sharply.

"We'll try not to," Ava said, smiling and nodding over my shoulder. "The people you are hitching a ride with are waiting for you. Hurry back, please; I look forward to having you back for good this time."

"I look forward to coming back for good," I said, and went to catch my ride.

**Aha! The site works again! I shall not be silenced by mere technical difficulties! HA! --laughs evilly and is given blood-freezing looks from main characters-- Okay, I'll be quiet and write now.**


	55. A Mild Change of Pace

I am sorry to get your hackles up- really, I am- but Master insists this is an important part of the story and that, as he was not there, I ought to be the one who gets to tell it.

My name is Avalynn Rosalie Dracula, better known as Ava, the middle Bride, and I've ended up spinning the next chapter in our tale.

I watched him get into the coffin carefully, and then undoubtedly be knocked about inside when those inebriated Gypsies picked it up and carried it somewhere. I waited until it was out of sight- carried around a bend. I imagined being in his position- trapped in a space hardly large enough to shift your weight, waiting for assassins unknown to show up with a stake and mallet. The remorse at his situation lasted until I reminded myself that I would be in exactly the same arrangement sometime soon, and most certainly worse off if we didn't do something about it.

Katherina and Elizabeth were already bickering. I turned back to them. "Come on, girls, the castle awaits."

"Are we going to go lure them today?" Elizabeth said, eyes bright. She was, appearance-wise, about seventeen or so and with all the exuberance and childish naivety of a little girl of seven. It was almost painfully endearing to see a vampire who had celebrated more than two hundred birthdays be so juvenile, and doubly hard not to want to protect her.

"Yes," I said, sighing, and began to lead them back in the direction of the castle. They followed- Katherina no longer volatile but polite and quiet as a lamb- clearly excited. A shepherd's staff would have completed the scene nicely.

"What are we going to do with them?" Elizabeth pressed, nearly bouncing with animation.

"Offer them a meal and tell them to stay as long as they like," Katherina piped, completely straight-faced.

"You're fooling with me," Lizzie said, frowning.

"Yep."

They never stop.

This continued all the way back home, even as they were flying and scaling walls to get into windows- harder than it seems in a corset- until Kat became more interested in rebraiding her hair than antagonizing her sister. Lizzie's chain mail was coming a little bit out of the chemise, and I fixed it for her.

"We lure them _now_?" Elizabeth demanded. She had been getting more and more impatient as time wore on. Kat, I suspected, had as well, but she was hiding it better.

"Yes," I repeated, checking to see that she was laced properly. Master might be a prodigy at removing corsets, but he wasn't quite as good putting them back on.

"How?"

"You aren't satisfied, are you?" I asked. "We let Katherina go first and then we pretend we knew what she was doing all along."

"It sounds good to me!" Kat yelled from the couch. "Are you done? . . . let's go, then!"

We went by the skies. Kat went first, Elizabeth next, and myself in back- fulfilling my self-imposed duty as caretaker- a burden, but someone has to do it.

It was a few minutes after midnight- by my count- when we bore down in the forest, hidden by the darkness and the thick foliage and the new falling snow from the band of assassins that had followed us across oceans and through forests. Katherina, whose sense of subtlety was, at best, impaired, went crashing through the flora with the speed and silence of a herd of rabid elephants.

It's a good life, truly it is.

Lizzie and I followed at what I thought was a safe distance, and we arrived at their camp a couple minutes after she.

I have not lived all of my life in wealth, just most of it, and I have tried not to forget what it is like for means not for something to be a sure deal; all the same, I have never been as cold or as forlorn as these men seemed. There were five men or so huddled around their dying fire, beside the horses that panicked upon seeing us, four of them as young as mid-twenties, pale and with the slightly weedy look of people who have lost weight very quickly. They had on long-sleeved coats with the collars tuned up toward their ears to keep out the cold and wind of Romanian in November.

There was one girl in their midst, and she was perhaps the most well-prepared of them all. This was, I assumed, the Mina I had heard so much about; she would have been more or less Lizzie's height if she had been standing, but she was on her knees, so swaddled in a pile of fur coats that it was impossible to discern anything but her face. Pretty enough, but thin as well, as wan as us, and vaguely hungry. She had the face of someone on the edge of desperation. There was a circle of flowers enclosing her, garlic, most certainly.

Katherina advanced, smiling her sharp-edged smiles, toward them, eyes glinting. They turned away from warming their hand to see her, and recoiled, visibly horrified. With their faces toward us, I could see their eyes, slightly sunken from worry and lack of sleep, I spotted among them Jonathan Harker, his hair gone completely silver and his face thinner.

The oldest man stood and I recognized him- now that he had extracted himself from the group- as Abraham Van Helsing. We had seen him once, a while ago, for some revenge plot he fancied himself part of. The forty years between then and now were painfully evident, although it's probable that his fight with the Master had aged him even more. He edged, steps careful and deliberate, toward Mina in her circle of white garlands, and knelt down beside her.

Katherina and Elizabeth spread themselves out around the ring of flowers, eyes on Mina. She and Van Helsing were talking quietly, eyes on us. I felt a very mild twinge of pride at being held in such a high respect; the villagers had learned long ago that if there was one vampire they had to watch, it was Kat, and it wasn't as if I was head of the household back at home.

Kat and Lizzie smiled, baring white, extended fangs, and I followed them. It was an odd feeling, learning from my younger and older sisters, when I was usually the one to teach them. But terrorizing people is not my forte, as you mayhap have noticed, and I had to do it nevertheless.

Katherina started to call out in her high, clear voice that always, for some reason, reminded me of water pouring into a tall glass, and Lizzie and I followed her lead. There was something in it which felt very false to me, very forced, but the assassins shrank back from us, eyes wide and bodies pressed together in fear- like herd animals.

The sight of their obvious fear was both maddeningly prideful, triumphant even, and maddeningly sad. Of our quartet, I thought I was the least to be feared; even the villagers, while they did not like me, knew I was less prone to resort to violence than my comrades. And here were people who shrank back before me like I was an angry god. But it made me sad, as well, so see people stripped like that. It always has.

The first light of day spindled over the treetops, as delicate as golden thread, and we three retreated back into the forest, and flew back to the castle- and the basement, and our usual coffins- like bats out of hell from there.

The getting ready was no less frenzied. All three of us checked corsets, made sure chain mail was not sowing, and- awkwardly now- scooped up handfuls of Transylvanian soil and deposited them in our sleeves. It was so bizarre to be doing it, and even more so when we considered how important it was, but meditating on the eccentricity of life had no place here.

"Lizzie," I asked, nearly panting. "Katherina, are you two all set?"

"Locked and loaded," Kat said quickly, folding small pieces of metal sticking out from the top of her dress under the hem.

"Aye, aye, captain," Lizzie said, wiping her dusty hands off on her skirt.

I saw them safely into their coffins, saw to it that they locked it from the inside, lest Van Helsing note it seemed too easy for him, before laying myself down as they had.

It was an hour, perhaps- the longest hour of my life. To an immortal, to one who has lived three hundred years, an hour is usually no more than a fleeting glance, but this one stretched out over decades and eons of time. I did not have faith in my plan, or even fully have faith in _myself_, for that matter, and over the course of that hour in which I waited for my would-be executioner, I considered the many ways in which this could go wrong. My brave face for the Master had not been much more than a bluff; what if something in our plan failed? What if they, the people I had loved and cared for for centuries, did not make it through?

I could not live with myself if that happened.

To keep my mind off this, I counted the seconds off in my mind, and it was more or less around seven o'clock when I heard the first of our vampire hunting friend.

My sense were on alert, pulled as taut as high-tension wire, and they picked up, in painful clarity, the sounds of the basement door opening and footsteps, soft as a psalm on the stone floor.

I heard the assassin walk for a moment and then stop, and there was a clicking noise as he tried to pull up the coffin's lid but was fettered by the ultimately useless lock. After this there fell a sharp _bang_- pounding his fist on the lid, I should assume- and a creak as he pulled it open.

It was Elizabeth, then, that he was looking at now, my sister Lizzie that he was watching, thinking of how to kill her. I felt sudden, fierce anger, worse- much!- than what I had felt before in this case; he wanted to kill my sister. He wanted to look into her wide, naïve eyes and kill her. How dare-

But there was no scream, no gagging, no noise of any sort to indicate that he had driven the stake into her heart. To the contrary, the footfalls started back up again, heading, this time, for me.

My muscles, all along my body, pulled taught with anticipation. To be in my position- God, to be in my position!

A moment later a solid smack to the coffin's flat cover unlatched it- an ineffectual trinket- and, through my eyelashes, I saw the cover began to lift.

It was Van Helsing standing above me. At this range, I saw his features in excruciating detail; his windswept silver hair, still sporting crystals of ice from the snowy outside, the way the minimal sunlight reflected off the gold rims of his glasses, and the way he squinted down at me, hazel eyes burning with hatred, as if I was some sort of insect who had caused his family ill and that he was now taking extreme pleasure in dissecting me alive, and most of all I saw the way his long fingers wrapped around the stake and mallet.

I waited, as I had waited for Elizabeth, for the stake's sharp point to touch my chest through the cloth and chain mail and for him to deliver the killing stroke, but he looked at me with such cold fury that my insides contracted, and then, leaving the lid open, moved on.

I stayed, rigid, as there were more footfalls, a clout to a final coffin lid, and a _creak_. No noise from Katherina, either, and I prayed God she would not lash out. Not now.

He had seen us all, lying helpless, and there was no point in him delaying any longer. He would stab us now, as surely as the sun would rise in the east, and yet, somehow, he did not. The notion that he was doing this simply to antagonize me flitted through my mind, and I had to clench my teeth around the hysterical giggle that threatened to escape.

There was a rough scrape of marble on marble, and I thought wildly, _Oh, you're touching the Master's coffin, is he going to be angry with you!_

There were more footsteps, but they headed in Lizzie's direction, not mine.

Van Helsing was breathing quickly. Despair flooded my veins and I knew, as a truth the universe had been founded upon, that if Elizabeth did not make it through this, that he would die at my hands.

Lizzie screamed suddenly, and it was as long and rough and ragged and painful to me as sandpaper across a wound. It was no ordinary "I saw a mouse" scream, but the kind that resonates from the bottom of the soul from only pain of the deepest and most exquisite kind. It was agonizing just hearing her in so much pain, so much that I wanted to lunge up at that moment, shatter what we had so carefully planned, and throttle him with my bare hands- and the screaming stopped suddenly, leaving nothing but a bare silence in its wake.

_God help you if she is dead_, a voice in the back of my mind hissed.

He reappeared at the top of my coffin, looking as though he had aged twenty years since I had seen him. His eyeglasses were flecked with blood. The top collar of his shirt was unbuttoned. His temples were slicked with sweat.

The stake's sharp point was placed over my heart, a small point of hurt. The nerves inside me buzzed with fear while he raised the mallet, adjusted it to his grip, and brought it down like the staff of the gods.

_Pain!_ Pain, more piercing and unbearable than anything I had ever known in my life up until then, exploded, blooming red and yellow and black roses across my vision and shattering the earth into a million jagged pieces, slashing and hurting me more. A scream I had tried to close my teeth around was wrenched from my mouth as if by force.

There was a sucking sound as the stake, imbedded in my chest was pulled back out, and something wet drenched my front. I laid there, semiconscious, until something sharp touched my throat. My blood filled my mouth to the teeth, making me choke, and brought me back to life.

_Go_, I thought weakly, and tried to evaporate into water vapor. _Go . . . now . . . _

I faded off into the mist.


	56. Aches and Pains

It was gray here.

My mind wandered through areas of silver and ash in varying shades of light and dark, as loose and unfettered as a balloon floating through layer upon layer of raincloud. Thoughts hovered where they were, unable to bounce off anything truly solid; once or twice it seemed that I saw something, but none of it was real.

It occurred to me, in this strange dream state, that this was bizarre, not at all where I should spend my time, but it came to me in such a way that I was neither terribly afraid nor distressed by this fact. As time passed in this place, though, the notion seemed to stay with me, and I started to get worried.

Why should this be so important?

Did I need to be doing something?

I did, didn't I? I struggled to think of what it might be, and was unable to remember.

There were faces in the fog. Several visibly clear, and many others with blurred features. I recognized the clear ones- however vaguely- but it took a moment to put names together.

The boy with the dark hair and the long nose and such unusual eyes. I knew him, too well perhaps. I liked him, didn't I? Yes, I liked him very much, loved him maybe. His was the clearest of them all, and I wondered distantly if he saw me the same way. He had a name, but I never used it as I recalled; what was it, then, that I called him?

Oh . . . Master.

There was some shift in me when I thought that, some sort of change in the fundamentals of the world that only I could sense; some of the mist that I seemed to be enveloped in evaporated, revealing darkness behind it, so black and unforgiving it seemed almost better to remain where I was now. But the faces sharpened some as well, and the easier I could make out their features.

There were two girls that I could see easily; one blonde and as petite and thin as a pixie, the other taller and darker complexioned, wide-eyed and smiling the smile of the innocent. I knew both of them- loved both? I supposed I did, else they wouldn't be so sharp as they were now.

I thought of their names. Katherina- she was the fairer- and Elizabeth- the darker.

The fog did evaporate fully then, leaving me alone inside unnamable black depths.

I started to hurt, and I hadn't been before- on my throat and chest, specifically. There was a deep, aching soreness around my left side, on everything, bones and muscles alike, but the one higher was worse.

I was more preoccupied with the latter, as every time I attempted to move it started to protest, and when I tried to draw breath, all that came was a rusty, heady smell and a great deal of coughing.

I tried to raise my hand to touch it- it felt pathetically weak, hardly able to pull into a fist and contract from there- and almost immediately slammed it into something long and flat and very hard. I let out a hiss of hurt.

There is truth in pain, I suppose, and it's because of that I recovered myself.

The latch on the coffin's door had relocked itself after banging shut; I fumbled with it for a few seconds before I got it open and dragged myself out of it. On my feet, however unsteadily, I assessed my injuries.

My chest was healed over, but badly bruised, and sore- terribly sore. My throat was a little worse off- slashed, anyway- but I wasn't terribly worried it would scar. I was here, in one piece, standing up. What more could I ask for?

Well, besides that my sisters could be here, in one piece, standing up. I limped over to Elizabeth's coffin. It was silent.

"Lizzie?" I asked, and immediately burst into a round of coughing. I tasted blood. Great; I was bleeding internally. Well, it'd fix itself eventually.

There was no answer from the depths of the coffin, so I pounded the lid open.

Elizabeth looked like hell; she honestly did. The entire front of her dress was stained black with blood, and ripped as well; ribbons of fabric floated around her like water lilies on the surface of a calm pond. Her head titled back at an odd angle, revealing the gash on her throat in living color, a way I'd prefer not to see blood and bare muscles and something that might have been vocal chords.

"Liz?" I said, weakly. I sounded pathetic, even to my own ears.

No response.

I touched her shoulder tentatively, and then the side of her face. Again, no motion, no stirring of life under my hand, and there were no physical signs that she was sleeping, or unconscious. No heat, no pulse. It's times like this I'd really like to be alive.

"Lizzie?" I repeated, and this time my voice broke. I cupped one hand under her chin and turned her to face me; she might have been sleeping, but for the fact that Elizabeth is a light sleeper. She can hardly sleep through a rainstorm, much less someone with hands as cold as mine touching her.

_Oh . . . my . . . god._

I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her up, leaned her against my chest like she was a baby. Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her hair made it into my mouth somehow. I felt tears under my eyelashes; they stung like acid.

One tear dripped onto Elizabeth's marble cheekbone, and her eyelids flickered.

"Lizzie?" I asked, my voice rising to an almost querulous tone, and I moved my hands to cup her face. There was no other sign of life, and I tightened my grip.

She coughed and put her hands up to my wrists feebly. Her eyes opened.

"Ava, you're hurting me," she said, her voice quiet and hoarse. There was blood on her teeth, probably from her own set of internal bleeding. Thank you ever so much, Van Helsing, for hurting my little sister on my watch. I will never forget this.

I wrapped her into a hug. Tears were still streaming from my eyes, but I couldn't feel them; I felt like a leaking faucet. She touched my shoulder slowly. We stayed like that for a few minutes.

"Master gets no touching," Elizabeth said eventually, still sounding husky.

"No," I agreed. "Shall we go get Kat?"

"Do we have to?"

I helped her to her feet, her arm over my shoulder, and half- carried her over to Katherina's side of the basement. I didn't mind holding her; at least she wasn't a _bona fide_ corpse. Katherina was probably the worse off out of all of us; she'd clawed the inside of her coffin to ribbons. The tips of her fingers were raw and bleeding. It looked horridly painful.

And yet, she was still feisty.

"Oh, Kat," I cried. "Look at you."

She bared her teeth at me, her breath whistling through her fangs. "Is Master back yet?"

"I don't know."

"Master gets _no_ touching," Elizabeth announced, somewhat proudly.

"Master gets more than that," Katherina muttered under her breath, extending one long marble arm and letting us pull her to her feet. She winced as we did so, pressed her free hand to her chest and sucking in air. "That _hurts_."

"Life sucks," Elizabeth said solemnly.

Katherina and I stared at her.

"What?"

I burst into hysterical laughter and tears. Kat eyed me and edged a few feet away. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I choked, wiping my eyes. "Let's go upstairs and change. These corsets are disgusting."

**I know, it took a while; the second half was harder to write. I love these girls.**


	57. In Which It's Back to the Action

And it's back to our regularly scheduled program, folks. I hope you missed me. I hope Ava was good to you. Now- where was I? 

I laid down in the coffin, which was cold and hard from the November air. It had never felt so claustrophobic before; generally, I find enclosed spaces comfortable, even cozy, for sleeping, but for now it might as well have been plastic. Suffocating. Smothering. And _god_, what was in this dirt that made it smell like this? It hadn't been this bad last time I was in here.

Oh, and then, on top of all this, was this paranoid worry about my Brides, which was not exactly a freeing emotion.

I could have thrown up.

So I preoccupied myself; specifically by adjusting my chain mail and putting that dirt in my sleeves. (What were _you_ thinking?) I probably should have done that before I got in, I recognize that, but I didn't know the coffin would have shrunk three sizes. I did, eventually, finish my task, but my elbows hurt like hell from banging into the coffin walls, my shoulder blades were sore from trying to stretch in ways the human body isn't really intended to stretch, and I was dusty, which sucked in a way all its own. But then I had nothing to focus on but the soul-crushing worry, and that, certainly, was not helpful to my composure.

I watched the colors on the door's crack change. They were beautiful.

I waited. And waited. And waited. Hours, maybe, or days. I couldn't tell. I lost track of time. Every so often I would decide to count seconds and convert that into minutes and hours, but every time I lost my train of thought before I had built up a substantial amount of time and was forced to start all over again.

But they came, eventually.

I had fallen into a twilight sleep, actually, and was keeping one ear out for any signs of potential trouble, and I heard it. One of the gypsies outside yelled in a deep voice, in their strangely butchered tongue, a warning, and speed picked up, jostling the wagon I was nestled on over fierce and bumpy roads. Like riding on cobblestones, only about a hundred times worse.

It increased, to what must have been warp speed or something very much akin to it, and there were gunshots from outside. These, I assumed, were fired to make a point, as there were no sounds to indicated any pain from my carriers. Horse hooves. Many of them.

"Halt!" two people from outside- my hunters, that was all I could tell- one in a frenzy and the other, while angry, not panicked. I was just thinking that if they thought yelling "halt" would actually stop a wagon, they were some serious jackasses when the cart did, indeed, screech to a halt, even slid in a semicircle due to centripetal force. I sighed at this.

Shouting in that curiously lilting British accent filled the outside air. Never before had I been so blind, or so helpless, and being so now practically killed me. I wanted to lunge up and take as many of them down as I could in one stroke, just to test myself. I couldn't just _lay_ here, I had to-

One last shotgun blast, and the coffin's doors exploded outward, and I was bathed in the deep, red-orange light of sunset and the wide-eyed hungry gaze of my pursuers. They surrounded me, all of them, the way a gaggle of cats might surround a fallen dog. I felt a surge of extreme distaste for them.

There was Mina too, thin and pale, and her gaze clicked with mine.

_Oh, Mina_, I thought wearily, looking at her. _ I don't need you, now or ever. Just leave me be._

Something sharp touched my throat, and I gagged for a moment, at the same time something hit my chest, and I relaxed.

_Everything's alright, yes, everything's fine._

I let her go, and floated off, as light and as cool as water vapor into the cool, sweet calm of the evening air.


	58. In Which There's a Few Last Thoughts

It's been quite some time since then, and my bruises have long since healed. The Brides did eventually suspend their no-sex rule, but not after several embarrassing punishments. I don't think the villagers are afraid of me the way they used to be. Curses.

Well, I'll live.

I've kept vague tabs on my would-be assassins over the years, in case they ever get the mind to go back and check on their work. Mina got knocked up and had some kid, which they named Quincy, and whenever they recount the story they get all choked up over some sentimentalist claptrap. Arthur and Dr. Seward eventually remarried. Neither of the girls were as pretty as Lucy.

Life went on.

Thank you, and good night.

_THE END_

Sunshine go away today,  
I don't feel much like dancing  
Some man's gone, he's tried to run my life  
Don't know what he's asking

He tells me I'd better get in line  
Can't hear what he's saying  
When I grow up, I'm gonna make it mine  
These ain't dues I been paying

How much does it cost? I'll buy it.  
The time is all we've lost. I'll try it.  
He can't even run his own life  
I'll be damned if he'll run mine  
Sunshine

Sunshine go away today,  
I don't feel much like dancing  
Some man's gone, he's tried to run my life  
Don't know what he's asking

Working starts to make me wonder where  
fruits of what I do are going  
He says in love and war all is fair  
He's got cards he ain't showing

How much does it cost? I'll buy it.  
The time is all we've lost. I'll try it.  
He can't even run his own life,  
I'll be damned if he'll run mine  
Sunshine

Sunshine come on back another day  
I promise you I'll be singing  
This old world she's gonna turn around  
brand new bells'll be ringing

-"Sunshine," Jonathan Edwards

**Oh . . . my . . . god. I just- did I just finish that? Seriously? No way. I've never finished ANYTHING, and now here I am with over 70,000 words worth of material. A year and a half of recreational writing, all right here.**

**And you know what bites? I'm really sad. I've gotten quite attatched to these characters, and I'm unhappy to see them go. But several people have been loyal to this fanfiction, so I suppose I should thank them now. (Feel free to skip this- I always do).**

**On many thanks to DarkPriestessofAssimbya, Miss Black Shadow, Alteng, Master of the Boot, and the elusive "redigger." I appreciate your reveiws and suggestions so much. In the real world, thanks Cait for letting me talk your ear off, Brittany for listening and making so many bizarre comments, Eva and Carla for your jokes. You guys make me laugh. Thank you.**

**I'm taking suggestions for another ff before I start editing this one, possibly for publication. And last, but not least, I've gotten my hands on a scanner, so I'll probably be launching a deviantart account in the near future, which will undoubtedly have illustrations for this. I'll make a note of it here when it's up with pics and everything.**

**I'll miss this.**


	59. Next FF?

**Okay, I said before that I'm sifting around for ideas for my next fanfiction, and I've come up with a couple ideas that I think could work, but I make no promises. (By the way, both will be with the same versions of the characters I've done here.)**

**IDEA NUMBERO UNO! Drum roll, please. "Behind Enemy Lines." Instead of cowering while she's menaced by the Brides, Mina's been captured and used as bait, and her only hope for survival lies in the hands of those who hate her the most. More drama than humor, although if you've read my stuff I end up with humor in . . . everything. It's like a sickness.**

**IDEA NUMBERO DOS! "Three is Better Than One." Suppose the Brides come over to England as well? (I think this speaks for itself.) Plenty of humor.**

**So there's your choices. I'm hosting a poll on my profile; please vote. Thanks!**


End file.
